


all ye faithful

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [170]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Uther Pendragon, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Breaking Up & Making Up, Childhood Sweethearts, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Reunions, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Jealous Merlin, Jealousy, Kissing, Lost Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Misunderstandings, Morning After, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Pendragon Sibling Feels, Personal Growth, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining Merlin (Merlin), Possessive Arthur Pendragon, Possessive Behavior, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Shower Sex, Yuletide, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-08-29 18:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16749565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: After an eight and a half year absence, Arthur returns to his father’s house for Christmas, determined to find some closure and finally let go of the past. Merlin, as ever, gives him a reason to hold on.Written for Winter Knights 2018.





	all ye faithful

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to my wonderful beta, AP, without whom this fic would never have seen the light of day <3

 

After eight and a half years, Camelot House still looked almost exactly as Arthur remembered it, looming up out of the snow-covered landscape like a cliff-face from a stormy sea. Even half-obscured by the falling flakes, it was an impressive building, and Arthur felt all of his misgivings come flooding back, his hands gripping tight to the steering wheel as he watched the familiar gothic façade rise into view.

 

It was like being a kid again, on his way home from boarding school for the Christmas holidays; he had the same sense of nervous anticipation in the pit of his stomach, the excitement of returning home combined with the dread that came from dealing with his father. Arthur’s grades had always been exceptional, his sporting and other extracurricular achievements exemplary, yet Uther Pendragon had always found something to be disappointed by—whether it was the cut of his son’s hair, or the state of his shoes, or his inability to memorise and recite a list of all the monarchs of England in the correct order. The habit had not changed when Arthur grew up, and he had no reason to suppose it would be any different now—in fact, it was highly likely that the list of his deficiencies would have only grown in light of his extended absence. 

 

Sighing, Arthur eased the car to a halt in front of the steps and turned off the ignition. He hadn’t told Morgana when to expect him, but the windows of the house were still lit, so he guessed she had already anticipated his ‘surprise’ visit in that uncanny way she’d always had. Even so, it wasn’t too late. He could call her tomorrow and tell her he hadn’t been able to get away from work, or that there had been some kind of emergency at the office and he wasn’t going to be able to leave until New Year’s. She would be disappointed, probably, but Arthur would be free to have the relaxing holiday he had planned, instead of spending the entire festive season exorcising old ghosts inside his childhood home.

 

He got out of the car. The snow squeaked noisily underfoot as he climbed up the steps to the front door, pressing the doorbell with his thumb before he could change his mind. He wasn’t a frightened child anymore, and he’d come this far—he might as well see it through to the end.

 

“May I help you, sir?” A maid he didn’t recognise opened the door, peering out into the snow with an apprehensive expression on her face. Arthur squared his shoulders and tried to dredge up a smile.

 

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m here to see my father.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Morgana swept into the hall just as Arthur was divesting himself of his coat and hat, her high-heeled shoes clicking against the polished tiles. She had obviously just ended a business call of some kind, as she was wearing a knee-length black dress and a double row of pearls despite the lateness of the hour, her hair swept back into an elegant chignon.

 

“Arthur, darling, you came.” She kissed the air above his cheeks. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”

 

“I told you I’d be here.” Arthur took a step back and pulled off his gloves and scarf, handing them to the maid as well before turning to take a proper look at his sister. Aside from a few more lines around her dark green eyes, she had hardly changed at all since the last time he'd seen her. “You look well. Is Leon still up?”

 

She nodded. “He’s upstairs with Mordred. They’re reading through one of his adventure books together, never mind that I’ve explained the importance of a proper bedtime a dozen times. Father is asleep already, of course. You’ll have to see him in the morning.”

 

Arthur wasn’t surprised. Uther had always risen extremely early and for that reason went to bed shortly after nine, leaving the rest of the household to fend for themselves. Even if he had known Arthur was coming, it was unlikely that he would have waited up for him.

 

“How is he?” Arthur asked, lowering his voice even though the maid had already left the room. “Is he all right?”

 

Morgana’s face softened infinitesimally. “You know Father. He’s as iron-willed as ever, though he’s never going to be the same as he once was. He’ll be happy to see you.”

 

“Morgana—”

 

“He will,” she insisted. “I know it may not seem like it, but he loves you, Arthur. He just isn’t very good at showing it.”

 

Arthur pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. They’d had this argument before, and there was nothing he could add to it that wouldn’t keep until morning. “Will I be staying in my old room?”

 

“I thought you’d want to.” Morgana hesitated. “Your things are up in the attic, though; it’s just an ordinary guest room now.”

 

“That’s fine,” Arthur said with a tight shrug. “I’m just an ordinary guest now, after all.”

 

Morgana studied him for a long moment, fixing him with the same look she’d given him when he was a boy and she’d suspected him of keeping secrets. No matter how hard he tried to hide things from her, when confronted with that searching gaze he would inevitably confess whatever it was that was bothering him, and Morgana would take it upon herself to fix it in the way that only an elder sister could. But Arthur was older now, and had perfected a penetrating stare of his own; this time, it was Morgana who eventually looked away, and with a roll of her eyes she ushered him up the stairs.

 

“Come on. Leon and Mordred will want to see you. I’ll send someone to retrieve your bags.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Arthur greeted his nephew and brother-in-law with affection, admiring Mordred’s new Superman pyjamas and answering Leon’s questions about his life in London with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. Fortunately, neither of them were really in much of a state to notice how lacklustre his responses were: Mordred was half asleep already, and Leon wasn’t far behind, so after a few minutes of catching up Arthur was able to plead exhaustion and escape to his room. It had been repainted in a pale yellow colour, the wainscoting trimmed with white and a frilly white counterpane draped over his four-poster bed. All of his old posters were gone, along with his books and sporting trophies, to be replaced by a series of landscape paintings in pale orange and green. As Morgana had said, it looked like any old generic guest room now, right down to Arthur’s luggage placed neatly on the rug in the centre of the carpet.

 

Pushing back the pang of hurt with the ease of long practice, Arthur moved to the window and looked out. The view, at least, was unchanged: the same rolling hills stretched away into the distance, the twinkling lights of Ealdor Village just visible beyond the trees. On the windowsill, their edges blunted with time and concealed beneath a fresh coat of white paint, Arthur’s fingers found the letters he had carved into the wood as a teenager, now nearly a decade before. He had almost forgotten they were there, yet his hands had traced them out unthinkingly, as though some instinct sought to confirm what he already knew: that however much the rest of the world might change, there were some things that never would.

 

He stood at the window for a long time before getting ready for bed.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Christmas Eve morning dawned cold and clear. Arthur had slept badly, no longer used to the creaking of the house, and was plagued with unpleasant dreams about the upcoming reunion with his father. Even redecorated as it was, his old room was so familiar that he could almost believe he was eighteen again, with all the attendant anxieties that entailed, the pressures of university and his father’s expectations still weighing heavily on his shoulders. The past eight and a half years might never have happened, except for the nagging ache in his chest when he thought about what he’d lost.

 

He lay curled beneath the covers until he began to feel suffocated, then kicked back the bedspread and padded over to the bathroom for a shower. Once he had dressed, shaved, and splashed some cold water onto his face, he felt a little better. If worst came to worst, he could always get in the car and leave. No one could stop him.

 

It was just after ten in the morning by the time Arthur made it downstairs, so instead of heading for the dining room he took a detour into the kitchen. The cook, a motherly woman by the name of Alice, had kept a plate for him on Morgana’s instructions, and she informed him that his sister would be waiting for him in the library when he had finished. Arthur thanked her, loading up his tray and taking it out into the formal dining table to eat. Years of etiquette training precluded him from doing what he actually wanted to do, which was to stay in the warm kitchen with Alice and forget that the rest of the world existed. Camelot House was large enough that he could probably have hidden out there for days if he really wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t avoid the rest of his family forever.

 

As though to illustrate just how true this really was, when Arthur entered the dining room he found his father already seated at the table. He was sitting with his back to the door, absorbed in his newspaper the way he had been every morning for as long as Arthur could remember. Arthur stopped abruptly in the doorway, his fingers going numb as his hands clenched around the handles of the tray. In the years since he had last seen him, Uther Pendragon had grown old and grey, and his recent illness had hollowed out his cheeks and given his complexion a sallow tint that did not suit him. Nevertheless, he was still Arthur’s father, and it took a few seconds before Arthur was able to gather enough breath to say quietly, “Good morning.”

 

Uther didn’t even look up. “Arthur. Your sister told me you were here.”

 

That was it. No, ‘it’s nice to see you, son,’ no, ‘how have you been?’, not even a flicker of surprise or pleasure at his youngest child’s return. Arthur walked the few steps to the table, putting down the tray and seating himself before saying very deliberately, “It’s been a long time.”

 

“Has it?” Again, that tone of polite indifference. “No doubt you would know that better than I.” The newspaper rustled, and Uther folded it over to spear Arthur with a familiar commanding stare. “Though I must say, I am confused as to why you decided to come back here. I certainly don’t recall giving the impression that you were welcome in this house.”

 

Arthur’s spine stiffened instinctively at his father’s tone, but he kept his voice even. “Morgana invited me,” he said. “She thought it would be nice for Mordred to have a proper family Christmas before he gets too old to enjoy it.”

 

“Before I’m dead, you mean.” Uther harrumphed. “Well, I’m not in my grave yet, and I don’t appreciate people showing up without being asked.”

 

“Morgana thought it would be a nice surprise.”

 

“It’s not _her_ house.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath and picked up a slice of toast. “I can leave, if you’d prefer. There’s a bed and breakfast in the village, isn’t there? Or I could just go back to London.”

 

“And spoil all your sister’s plans?” Uther glared at him. “I raised you better than that.”

 

Arthur knew better than to respond. Instead, he occupied himself by shovelling scrambled eggs onto the bread and stuffing it into his mouth. Alice’s fabulous breakfast was slightly rubbery after having spent so long in the warming drawer, and the toast tasted like sawdust in his mouth. Arthur chewed it mechanically and then swallowed, forcing himself to stay in his seat until he had cleaned his plate completely. Uther had gone back to his newspaper, straightening it with a snap and turning each page with a pointed rustle. He didn’t speak again, and Arthur didn’t try to make conversation.

 

All things considered, their first encounter had gone a lot better than he’d expected.

 

Too bad there were still another eight days to go.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Arthur spent the rest of the morning re-familiarising himself with the house and grounds and avoiding Uther to the best of his ability. In part, this was out of a desire to maintain the domestic peace for as long as possible, but it was also because of what Morgana told him in the library after breakfast.

 

“His blood pressure is very high,” she said. “He’s on a reduced sodium diet, and the doctor told him he’s to avoid things like alcohol and red meat if he wants to control his symptoms.”

 

“And did he listen?”

 

Morgana rolled her eyes. “You know what he’s like. Started yelling about know-nothing quacks trying to dictate his every move. They threatened to sedate him, and he threatened to sue. It was quite embarrassing.”

 

“But he’s going to be all right?”

 

“In theory. The diet and exercise should buy him some time, assuming he manages to stick to it.” She slumped back against her chair, a seldom-indulged symptom of exhaustion, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I know you’re angry with him, and you have every right to be. But you didn’t see him lying there in that hospital bed. He was so pale and so—so _old_ , I really thought he was going to— ” She broke off, closing her eyes, and Arthur hugged her.

 

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that alone.”

 

“I wasn’t alone. I had Leon and Mordred.” She patted his arm and forced a smile, extricating herself from his embrace. “Uther dotes on Mordred, you know—nothing like the way he was with us. It helps, watching the two of them together.”

 

“That’s good. For you, I mean. And I suppose for Mordred too.”

 

Morgana just looked at him, and he couldn’t read the expression on her face.

 

“Please at least _try_ to get along with Uther,” she said at last, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to forgive him. Hell, I’m not sure that _I_ forgive him. But for your sake, if nothing else, don’t…don’t leave it too long to resolve everything between you.”

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Arthur said, more sharply than he’d intended. When she frowned at him, he softened and said quietly, “I saw him in the dining room. He wasn’t—pleasant, but at least he spoke to me.”

 

“It’s a start.”

 

It _was_ a start, but Arthur wasn’t sure how much he wanted to rely on it. He didn’t trust himself to remain in the same room as Uther for too long without losing his temper, and he feared that trying to talk to him the way Morgana wanted would only serve to give Uther another, possibly fatal, heart attack. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to avoid the problem altogether, so instead of lingering indoors he bundled up and headed down to the village, leaving word with Alice in case Morgana wanted to know where he had gone.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Ealdor was one of those small farming communities that had been around for centuries. Most of the buildings had been constructed at the same time as the Great House, and while there were a few more recent additions here and there, none of them could be dated beyond the early nineteen hundreds. It had a quaint, old-world charm that as an adult Arthur found oddly soothing, although as a boy he had often complained about how boring it was. If he hadn’t been all too aware of just how much time had passed since he’d last set foot there, he might have said it was a place where time stood still.

 

He stopped in at a nearby café for some coffee, then wandered down Main Street with both hands wrapped around the paper cup, peering curiously into shop windows as he passed. He already had presents for his family, including Uther, so the last-minute gift displays didn’t interest him much, but he enjoyed the festive window decorations, and he had a pleasant time trying to identify everything that had changed in the past eight and a half years. Unsurprisingly, not much had, although the village did seem a lot smaller now than it had when he was younger.

 

Since it was already Christmas Eve, most of the shops were shut, but a few places still had their doors open, including the tiny independent bookshop and Snapdragons, the local florist. When he caught sight of the familiar Welcome sign at the florist’s front door, Arthur stopped, clutching his coffee a little tighter in his hands. Once he had made up his mind to return to Camelot, that portion of his brain not otherwise preoccupied with worry about his father had registered that coming home would also mean returning to Ealdor. He had spent a great deal of his time in the village as a child and later as a young adult, but of all the places he remembered, Snapdragons was the most bittersweet. Ten years before, he had stood on almost that very spot, debating the best way to ask the owner’s son out on a date. Eight and a half years ago, he had driven straight past the shop without stopping to say goodbye.

 

Merlin was probably long gone now, having left for university at the same time Arthur did with no intention of coming back, but his mother would no doubt still be there, and his uncle. Hunith Emrys had always been kind to Arthur when he was a boy, and Gaius had once taught him how to pot and re-pot a growing bulb as part of a school science project. There was no reason why he shouldn’t cross the street and say hello.

 

No reason except his own cowardice, anyway.

 

Before he could make up his mind one way or another, however, Arthur heard the bell above the door jingle, and a moment later it opened to reveal a young man in a dark green coat, wiping off what looked like potting mix on the seat of his trousers. He was taller than Arthur remembered, his hair somewhat longer than it had been when they last saw one another. The length gave it a slight wave that complemented the sharp angles of his face, though it made him seem older than twenty-seven, more like a man than the boy he had been. In spite of the changes, his identity was unmistakable, and in an instant Arthur’s pulse picked up, a faint echo of the way it used to race whenever he caught sight of Merlin’s smile.

 

Perhaps he moved, or made some sound, because a moment later Merlin raised his head and turned it unerringly in his direction. Their eyes locked. Arthur stood very still, barely breathing as he waited for a response—a wave, perhaps, or even just a nod of acknowledgement. But Merlin only turned around and walked back inside without a word, the bell tinkling for a second time as the door fell shut behind him.

 

Arthur waited, growing stiff and chilled as the minutes passed, but Merlin didn’t come out again.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

By the time he got back to the house, it was nearly dark. Arthur stamped the snow off his boots and hung up his coat, rubbing his hands briskly to restore the circulation. He wasn’t sure whether it was because his fingers were numb or if it was just that the shock hadn’t worn off yet, but either way he felt cold to the bone.

 

It should have occurred to him that Merlin might come home for the holidays. Merlin had always been close to his family, so it made sense that he would want to spend Christmas in Ealdor. Unlike Arthur, who had dragged his feet the entire way and was even now counting the hours until he could leave, Merlin had probably been looking forward to the visit, at least until he had seen Arthur. It had been mortifying to be caught there, hovering outside the flower shop like a would-be stalker, but even worse had been the blank-eyed lack of recognition on Merlin’s face, as if the two of them were total strangers who hadn’t so much as passed the time of day—as if they had never even met, let alone fallen in love.

 

With a sigh, Arthur leaned against the door and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. That had been a long time ago, and he couldn’t exactly blame Merlin for not being thrilled to see him. The end of their relationship had been as painful as it was final, and Merlin had made it perfectly clear that he had no interest in ever speaking to Arthur again. It was hardly his fault Arthur had never quite been able to let him go.

 

“Arthur?” His father’s voice startled him. Straightening automatically, Arthur turned to see Uther standing at the top of the stairs, frowning down at his son with a familiar look of disapproval. “Where have you been?”

 

“Out,” Arthur answered shortly. Then, because he sounded like a petulant teenager even to himself, he amended, “I went for a walk down to the village.”

 

Uther nodded silently, his cold eyes running over Arthur’s damp footwear and flushed cheeks. He looked unaccountably tentative just standing there, one hand on the railing as if he were undecided whether to go up or down. The warm electric light from the landing gave his skin an artificial glow, but there were still deep lines in his cheeks and forehead, greying shadows under his eyes. He looked like part of the house, some kind of ancient spirit guarding the threshold against intruders. 

 

“You were gone a long time.”

 

Arthur shrugged. “It’s a long walk.”

 

Uther scowled, clearly displeased with this response, but Arthur just bent down and began to unlace his boots. Gone were the days when he had to report back to his father and account for his every move; he was an adult, and he had every right to go for a walk down to the village if he wanted to—he could even stay out all night, if he so chose. His filial obligations to Uther had ended the day Uther had disowned him, and he had returned only because, unfortunately, his sense of obligation to his _sister_ was still alive and well. Morgana had asked him to come home for Christmas, and so he came, but even she couldn’t force him to be anything more than distantly civil to their father for the duration.

 

At last, Uther cleared his throat and said formally, “Dinner will be served in half an hour. I suggest you shower and change into something more appropriate.” He paused. “And you might want to send for the car in future, if you plan on going so far. It’s impolite to keep the rest of us waiting while you dawdle about in the snow.”

 

Having delivered himself of this opinion, Uther gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel, leaving Arthur staring after him in irritated disbelief. The ache of cold had faded a little from his fingers, but he still felt hollow and tired, and much as he would have liked to show up to dinner in track pants and a fuzzy jumper just on principle, the thought of a hot shower was enough to send him shuffling back in the direction of his room. Considering the meal he was about to endure, it was probably the closest to actual warmth he was going to get for the rest of the evening, so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Dinner that evening was a stilted, ceremonial affair, though perhaps less so than the family meals of Arthur’s childhood. Uther glowered at him when he showed up a few minutes late, but since Arthur was freshly showered and dressed in an acceptable starched shirt and neatly pressed trousers, he appeared to decide that discretion was the better part of valour. It helped that Mordred had already begun chattering to him about the snow fort he and Leon were building, distracting his grandfather’s attention almost immediately.

 

Morgana had been right when she’d said that Uther made a better grandfather than he did parent. He listened to Mordred talk with every appearance of interest, and even went so far as to pull a couple of Christmas crackers with him, although he declined to wear one of the crowns on his head. The only mildly unpleasant comment he made was to suggest that perhaps the snow fort would be more structurally sound if it were reinforced with ice, but since that was actually more in the order of helpful commentary, Mordred seemed to take the criticism in stride.

 

Arthur kept his head down throughout the meal, speaking very little and paying what was probably an inordinate amount of attention to his roast chicken and vegetables. It wasn’t that he was _jealous_ , exactly. Mordred was only five years old, and from what Arthur knew of him he was a good kid: he deserved to have a family who loved him. It wasn’t the boy’s fault that the sight of Uther looking on, smiling with fond indulgence as Mordred dripped gravy all over the table, made Arthur clench his teeth so hard he could barely swallow his dinner.

 

When Arthur was that age, his father would have sent him to his room in disgrace if he’d spilled so much as a drop of sauce on his precious tablecloth, but apparently the same rules didn’t apply to Morgana’s son. Nor was Mordred required to sip politely at his juice instead of slurp it, or make sure his elbows never touched the table and that he sat up straight, or indeed to follow any of the thousand little edicts that had made Arthur’s life a living hell when he was a boy. The longer he was obliged to sit there and observe their interactions, the more Arthur was forced to conclude that he had been wrong, all those years ago: it wasn’t that his father was incapable of expressing love and affection, it was just that he was incapable of expressing it towards _him_. It was a relief when Mordred was sent to bed not long after the meal, and the adults retreated to the sitting room for after-dinner drinks.

 

“He is trying, you know,” Morgana said some time later, appearing at Arthur’s elbow as he poured himself a second glass of whisky. “It’s hard for him, having to prove he’s changed.”

 

“It isn’t exactly easy for me, either,” Arthur said. He turned to find her leaning against the fireplace, her arms folded loosely as she watched him. With her hair down and curling in soft waves around her shoulders, she looked like a girl again, and Arthur felt his throat constrict. “’Gana, I don’t know if I can do this.”

 

She left the hearth and came over to him, picking up a crystal tumbler from the sideboard. He filled it for her and handed it back in silence, waiting as she tilted it slowly between her fingers.

 

Finally, she said, “Do you want to leave?”

 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Arthur capped the decanter again and shook his head. “Being here is…it’s strange. Everything looks the same, but it’s all so—different.” He picked up his glass and swirled it in one hand, watching the liquid change colour as it caught the light. “I saw Merlin today.”

 

Morgana’s head came up. “You saw him?”

 

“It was kind of hard not to, considering he was right in front of me.” Arthur rubbed at the bridge of his nose and glanced at her, taking in the careful way she was sipping at her drink, her head ever so slightly turned so that he couldn’t see her face. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

 

“Well, it is Christmas,” Morgana said, lifting her slim shoulders in an elegant shrug. “I suppose he must be here to visit his family.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Some people do that, you know, or so I’ve heard.”

 

“Some people also have families who don’t try to ruin their lives,” Arthur retorted. “Or so I’ve heard.” He downed his drink in one swallow, closing his eyes against the burn of the alcohol as it went down. “You know how I feel—felt—how I feel about him. You could have warned me.”

 

“I could have.” At least she didn’t try to correct his assumption that she had known; one of the good things about Morgana was that she never bothered trying to cover it up when she was caught in a lie. “Except I also know you would never have set foot in Camelot again if you’d known that he was here.”

 

Her green eyes challenged him to disagree, and Arthur’s fingers tightened on his empty glass. “So you lied to me on purpose.”

 

Morgana sighed. “I wasn’t going to keep it from you entirely,” she said. “If I’d known you were heading into town, I would have mentioned it—give me _some_ credit.”

 

She probably would have, too, and dropped it into the conversation so casually that it would have taken Arthur a few minutes to realise what she’d said. She might even have managed to convince him that it could be a good thing, that the two of them would take one look at one another and ride off into the sunset together, eight years and his father’s wishes be damned. Morgana could be surprisingly romantic, for such a cutthroat businesswoman.

 

“Let me guess,” he said, setting down the tumbler hard on the sideboard so as not to be tempted to throw it. “You were planning to reintroduce us at the Christmas party, weren’t you?”

 

Morgana gave another shrug, but for the first time he could see a tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I thought it would be good for you,” she said. “You have the home court advantage here; you can show him what he missed out on. Besides,” she added, on firmer ground now, “it would have looked odd not to invite him when the rest of the village had already RSVP’d. I could hardly pretend his invitation got lost in the mail.”

 

“And what exactly did you expect me to do when he showed up?” Although Arthur was doing his best to keep his voice steady, he could hear the volume rising and could do nothing to stop it. Across the room, Uther and Leon stopped talking. “Offer him a drink and pretend to let bygones be bygones? My God, Morgana, you’ve been living here too long. You’re becoming exactly like Father.”

 

He saw Morgana blanch, then flush darkly, and knew he’d gone too far, but found that for the moment he didn’t much care. He left his glass where it was, pushing past a startled Uther and Leon and striding out into the hall. He didn’t slam the door behind him—he was an adult, god damn it—but he did shut it firmly, and the sound of his own footsteps as he climbed the stairs to bed struck him suddenly as an impossibly distant, lonely sound.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

On Christmas Day, Arthur woke to find himself curled into a tiny ball beneath the covers, shivering in a cold draft from the ill-fitted window. More snow had fallen overnight, and the room had turned into an icebox, the ancient insulation no match for the plummeting temperatures. He got up to turn on the radiator, pausing as he did so to brush his fingertips over the invisible _M+A_ etched into the windowsill.

 

He had been willing to leave it all behind for Merlin. Hell, he would have walked straight off the edge of a cliff and happily if Merlin had asked him to do it, but there had been complications—timing, for one. At eighteen, Arthur had still been financially dependent on his father, as he wouldn’t come into his inheritance from Ygraine until he was twenty-one. He’d wanted to wait until he finished university and could support himself before taking that final, irrevocable step and burning his bridges behind him.

 

Merlin hadn’t wanted to wait. As a teenager, he had been smart, loud-mouthed and fearless, always the first to leap in to defend the underdog, or, indeed, anyone, if he thought they needed it. It hadn’t seemed to have occurred to him to be afraid of what people might think, or to worry that his mother might react badly to the news that her son loved other men. Not that Hunith Emrys would ever have considered disowning him, no matter the reason, but Merlin’s confidence in himself had been unshakeable, his faith in the ultimate goodness of humanity one of the (many) things that had drawn Arthur to him in the first place. He had never seen any reason to be cautious or attempt to hide his feelings from the world, because he’d always trusted that things would work out for the better—at least until Arthur had gone and broken his heart.

 

With a sigh, Arthur padded over to his suitcase and pulled out some fresh clothes, the radiator pinging away noisily behind him. Turning it up seemed to have taken some of the edge off the chill, but Arthur nevertheless dug out his warmest jumper, knowing that the rest of Camelot House would likely be just as draughty. After a second’s hesitation, he grabbed a pair of fingerless gloves and tugged them on as well. It always paid to be prepared.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Christmas in the Pendragon household had always been defined by two things: Christmas dinner, during which personal gifts were exchanged and toasts were made, and the annual Christmas party, which occupied the better part of the day despite the fact that it didn’t officially begin until early evening. By the time Arthur made it downstairs for breakfast, Morgana had already left to help with the decorating, and his father was nowhere in sight, having apparently decided to eat in his rooms in order to avoid interacting with the hired help.

 

“We thought we’d go on a walk through the grounds this morning,” Leon said, gesturing to Mordred as Arthur dug into his porridge. “Your sister said there’s an old gazebo down by the lake, and I figured Mordred could use the exercise. It’ll help keep his mother from throttling him,” he added in a stage whisper, and Arthur grinned in spite of himself. Morgana could be a force to be reckoned with when she got going, that was for sure. It was nice to know that some things never changed. “Would you like to come with us?”

 

The question took Arthur by surprise, and he hesitated a moment before answering. Leon had been in Morgana’s year at school, which meant that they hadn’t really known each other all that well; Arthur remembered him mostly as a quiet, studious boy who preferred studying to dating and usually had his nose in a book. By the time he had started going out with Morgana, Arthur had been living in Canada, and the two of them had consequently never spent much time together. When he caught Leon’s eye, however, he understood: though it had been phrased as a question, it actually wasn’t a request. Leon wanted to speak with him, and he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Arthur nodded, trying to summon up a smile for Mordred’s sake. He had no appetite for breakfast anyway, not when he knew that he would be in the same room as Merlin in less than twelve hours, and it wasn’t as if he had any other plans for the day. Leon clapped him on the shoulder and told him to eat up, and a few minutes later the three of them were bundling themselves into their hats and coats and heading for the open door.

 

Mordred immediately ran off ahead when they got outside, throwing himself bodily into the snowdrifts that had piled up on either side of the main path overnight. Leon and Arthur followed at a more sedate pace, keeping the little boy within shouting distance but otherwise making no effort to hurry.

 

“You know,” Leon said, once they were out of sight of the house—probably so that Arthur would have nowhere to run. “I have an older sister as well.”

 

“My condolences,” said Arthur drily.

 

Leon grinned, but shook his head. “She wasn’t as bad as Morgana, I’ll grant you, but we had our share of arguments, growing up. It took me a long time to realise that, when she tried to tell me what to do or how to act, it came from a place of love, even if it felt like she was trying to control me.”

 

Arthur sucked in a breath, then let it out in a puff of vapour. Leon wasn’t pulling his punches, it seemed. “I know Morgana means well,” he said. “But, your sister—it’s different. Our father…”

 

“—is a controlling old bastard,” Leon said, without the slightest change in tone. When Arthur glanced at him, startled, Leon stared back at him with clear blue eyes, and Arthur mentally revised his opinion of the man. Leon obviously saw more than he’d given him credit for. “Morgana knows that, even if she has trouble admitting it to herself sometimes. And I’m not saying she doesn’t have a habit of interfering where she shouldn’t. But she really does care about you, Arthur, and she just wants you to be happy.”

 

It seemed as close as he was likely to get to mentioning their fight the night before, and Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I know she’s not like my father,” he said. “I mean, in most ways. But she has no right to decide what she thinks is best for me without asking, and I don’t like that she went behind my back about this. How I feel about Merlin…it’s not a _game_ , and sometimes I don’t think she understands that. I don’t appreciate being _managed_ ,” he added, with some resentment. “Some things are simply none of her business, yet she will insist on meddling.”

 

Leon was silent for a few minutes, and Arthur listened to the sounds of the gravel beneath their feet, the occasional shrieks of Mordred’s high-pitched laughter. At last, Leon said carefully, “ _Would_ you have come back, if you’d known?”

 

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I might not have. Things between us ended pretty badly, and I never really got over it. But at least if I had known he was here, I could have been able to make a deliberate choice one way or the other, rather than being ambushed by him in the middle of town like that.”

 

“Yeah, I can understand that.” Leon nodded. “Lord knows, some of my exes…” His grimace was eloquent, and Arthur smiled, biting back the desire to point out that it wasn’t quite the same. He doubted Leon was still in love with any of those exes, or that he had ever treated any of them quite so badly. “But these past few years have been hard for Morgana. Dealing with your father again, trying to get him to take his condition seriously…It hasn’t been easy, and I know she’s missed you terribly.”

 

Arthur looked away. He had still been overseas when Morgana had gotten married, and after that he’d been too busy fixing the mess that he’d made of his life to really become an active part of hers. There had been phone calls, of course, and a flying visit around the time that Mordred was born, and there had been Skype calls every other birthday, but none of that took the place of living in the same country or being there for one another in times of need. Arthur had been so close to graduating—several years late—when his father first got sick that he had been desperate not to get sucked back into the maelstrom of his previous life, and it wasn’t as if Morgana had asked him to come back to help her. He hadn’t really thought about how much of a strain it must have been until he’d returned, but even if he had, he wasn’t altogether sure it would have changed his mind. Now more than ever, he realised how much he had needed that distance from his family, even if it came at a cost.

 

“I suppose I can’t blame you for that,” Leon said, when Arthur said as much. “I don’t think Morgana blames you, either. She gets it. I just think…This Christmas is really important to her, and I think deep down she was afraid that learning about Merlin would make you change your mind, so she told herself it would be better if it came as a surprise. I don’t think she was intending to manipulate you.”

 

“No, of course not,” Arthur said drily. “She just wanted to make sure I did what she wanted, even if it wasn’t what _I_ would have wanted, had she told me all the facts of the situation. That’s not manipulative at all.”

 

For a moment, he thought Leon was going to get angry, but then he just sighed. “All right, that’s fair. But surely you can understand her motivation.”

 

“Not really, no,” Arthur said, folding his arms. It was a clear day, surprisingly warm for the time of year, and the briskness of the exercise had made sweat prickle at his hairline and in the hollow of his back. He stopped walking, and Leon stopped too, turning towards him. “Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to come back for Christmas, but I would still have visited her if she wanted me to. All she had to do was ask.”

 

“Well, you know what you Almighty Pendragons are like,” Leon said, with a wry smile. “God forbid you ever admit to needing anyone. That would be a violation of The Code.”

 

“The Code?”

 

Leon waved a hand. “Private joke,” he said. “But from the way she tells it, Morgana seems to think you’d washed your hands of all of us, herself and Mordred included. She said the only reason you came back at all was to make amends with Uther before—well. In case anything happened to him.”

 

Arthur could only stare at him. “That’s absurd,” he said flatly. “I’ve gotten along just fine without my father for almost a decade, but I wanted Morgana back in my life—properly, I mean—and this seemed like a necessary first step. The only reason I’m here is because she talked me into it.”

 

Leon didn’t answer for a long moment, calling out to Mordred not to go running so far ahead. They started walking again, and had nearly reached the path leading down to the lake before he finally glanced over at Arthur and said, “Maybe you should tell Morgana that, next time you see her.” He smiled a little, and when he squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur realised he had made a friend. “Because I don’t think she knows.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

It was almost mid afternoon by the time they got back to the house, by which point most of the decorators had been and gone, leaving a great swathe of garlands and fairy lights in their wake. The entrance to the hall had been transformed: fresh ivy vines twined around the bannisters, interspersed with colourful sprigs of red and white mistletoe and branches of holly. In the centre of the foyer, a massive Christmas tree stood glittering, its branches weighed down with many layers of tinsel and strings of glass baubles of varying shapes and sizes.

 

“Morgana’s really outdone herself this year,” Arthur observed, wiping his boots on the mat and pulling off his gloves. He handed his coat and hat to the maid and helped Mordred wriggle out of his jacket, watching as his nephew took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He was starting to understand why Leon had insisted on taking such a long walk; the boy seemed to have an endless supply of energy. “I don’t remember things being quite this ornate the last time I was here for Christmas.”

 

“That _was_ a long time ago,” Leon pointed out with a grin. “But I know what you mean. I would have preferred something a little more subdued, myself, but Morgana insisted that she needed to do something special, and I’ve learned by now that she’s usually right about these things.”

 

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Arthur joked, shaking his head. “You give her an inch, and the next thing you know she’ll be doing this every holiday.”

 

“Oh, I hope not,” Leon said. “Once a year is more than enough for me. Thank you, Sophia,” he added, as the maid gathered up his things as well. She bobbed her head in acknowledgement, disappearing silently back the way she had come, and Leon watched her go with an expression of faint bemusement. “It’s been a lot to get used to, all of this,” he said, half to himself. “Christmas was very different for us when I was growing up.”

 

 “I know what you mean,” Arthur said, with feeling. When Leon looked over at him questioningly, he explained, “It’s been different for me as well, after I moved to Canada. It never really made sense to do a big meal or anything when I was on my own, even once I could afford it, so I kind of stopped making the effort after a while.” He was about to say something else, something that would hopefully make him seem a little less pathetic, but the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both turn.

 

“Arthur, may I speak with you for a moment?” Uther asked. He was standing in the hallway to the dining room with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing the same severe expression that he always adopted when Arthur had done something he disapproved of. Arthur glanced at Leon, who shrugged one shoulder and gestured for him to go ahead.

 

“Of course, Father,” Arthur said. “I’ll see you and Mordred at lunch in a bit, Leon.”

 

“Of course. Take your time.” With a nod in the direction of his father-in-law, Leon followed his son more sedately up the stairs, and Arthur remained where he was, tucking his hands into his pockets as he waited for his father to speak.

 

“It’s good to see the two of you getting along,” Uther said, somewhat awkwardly. He folded his arms, then seemed to realise that this made him look rather forbidding and uncrossed them again, letting them dangle uncomfortably at his sides. “I had some concerns when Morgana first announced their engagement that he wouldn’t fit in here, but so far he seems to be managing adequately.”

 

“I’m sure,” said Arthur, who had some idea of what his father’s ‘concerns’ had actually been. “Listen, Father, I really need to change out of these wet things before we eat. So if that’s all you wanted…?”

 

“I didn’t say that.” Uther scowled at him repressively, and Arthur sighed. Of course not. Why should a little thing like physical discomfort deter Uther Pendragon from his goal? “There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you, if you could possibly bring yourself to waste another minute of your time.”

 

He turned on his heel without giving Arthur a chance to respond, and after a moment’s hesitation, Arthur followed him. In spite of himself, he was curious. He had more or less been resigned to receiving nothing from his father this year; the best he thought he could hope for was some kind of joint gift with Morgana, or perhaps a carefully-worded card wishing him ‘Happy Holidays’ and heavily implying that he was going to Hell. That Uther had even gone as far to think about giving him a gift came as something of a surprise.

 

Uther led him down past the dining room and into his study, not once bothering to look over his shoulder. Presumably, he could hear Arthur’s footsteps behind him, or perhaps he simply didn’t care one way or the other, but either way he seemed to have complete confidence that his will would be obeyed. When he entered the room that had once served as his office, he crossed directly to the desk and unlocked one of the drawers, pulling out a small, square object wrapped in dark blue paper.

 

“I was going to give this to you at the dinner table with the others,” he said, holding it out to Arthur. He reached for it gingerly, but it was a few seconds before Uther seemed able to let go. “But then I thought, perhaps it would be better done in private. I wouldn’t want it to get lost or damaged in all the kerfuffle.”

 

“What is it?” Arthur asked, weighing the parcel in his palm. For something so tiny, it was surprisingly heavy, and he couldn’t think of anything his father might want to give him that could be so weighty as well as so small.

 

“Open it. You’ll see.”

 

“I—right. Of course.” With careful fingers, Arthur untied the white ribbon and unwrapped the box, lifting off the lid with no little degree of trepidation. At first, he couldn’t see anything due to the excessive amount of packaging, but after he had lifted the top layer of detritus away, he realised it was a glass bird—a swan, in fact, one that he recognised from the family photo album as having belonged to his mother.

 

“I didn’t have time to buy anything special,” Uther said stiffly. “Your sister didn’t mention that you were intending to visit until the morning after you arrived. But I had some boxes brought down from the attic for the decorators last night, and I found that in amongst your mother’s things. It occurred to me that you might like it.”

 

“I would—I mean, I do,” Arthur said, recovering his voice. “Very much, thank you.”

 

Uther harrumphed again, which seemed to be his way of expressing scepticism, but when Arthur attempted to reiterate the sentiment his father waved his protestations away and he fell silent. He turned the tiny ornament over in his hands. It was exquisitely made, with two dark eyes and a silver beak, its delicately etched feathers outlined in gold. The wings were upraised, as if it had been caught right on the brink of flight, and when balanced in the palm of his hand it appeared almost to preen where the light caught the surface.

 

“I gave it to her as a wedding gift,” Uther said, startling Arthur, who hadn’t been expecting him to speak. He was studying the swan contemplatively, his eyes distant as he went on in a quiet voice, “She was always so fond of beautiful things. Her family didn’t have much money, you see, and they were practical people—they didn’t see the point in spending what little they did have on frivolous items. But your mother…She used to say it helped to remind her that life is full of possibilities.”

 

For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, and Arthur held his breath, wondering whether he would go on. He had seen pictures of Ygraine as a young bride, her face glowing with happiness and hope for the future, but he had never heard Uther talk about her so openly before.

 

Eventually, however, his father appeared to shake himself, and the spell ended, bringing them both back to the present.

 

“I would have given it to Morgana,” he said, making a dismissive gesture. “It’s a woman’s gift, really—useless and ornamental. But she has Mordred to think about now, and there’s always the chance that it would get broken. Besides, I think your mother would have wanted you to have it.”

 

“I’ll treasure it,” Arthur said, and meant it. He settled the little bird back into its box, nestling it carefully into the cotton wadding before closing the lid. “It’s lovely.”

 

“Hmm,” was all Uther said. He coughed, then glanced towards the mantlepiece and stood up, smoothing his suit with a sharp, dismissive gesture that Arthur remembered from his childhood. “In any case, it’s almost time for luncheon. I expect you to be dressed and ready before the gong.” He turned towards the door, his tone making it clear that the request was not negotiable. “This meal is very important to your sister. Don’t be late.”

 

Arthur nodded automatically at his father’s back, but he remained in the study for several minutes after Uther had gone, trying to process what had just happened. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d heard his father talk about Ygraine like that; had never, in fact, known Uther to be so forthcoming when it came to details about his late wife, no matter how often his children had begged and pestered him. Arthur would have done anything for just one memory of her when he was growing up, and now Uther had given him one, seemingly without even realising he was even doing so. The ornament was beautiful, it was true, but it was the story behind it that was by far the more precious gift in Arthur’s eyes.

 

He sat there for a long time, until the clock on the mantle chimed and he realised that he would definitely be late if he didn’t hurry up and get changed. He swiped at his face with the back of one hand and got to his feet, tucking the swan in its little box safely into the crook of his arm before glancing over to check the time.

 

It was a quarter to one. In just over five hours, he would see Merlin again.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Christmas dinner went off without a hitch, and if it was more subdued than some of the meals Arthur could remember, it was at least surprisingly free from argument. It seemed that Arthur’s father had been correct: today _was_ very important to Morgana, and although her voice became noticeably cooler whenever she addressed her brother, she made a point of including him in the conversation whenever she could, as though determined to prove that she, at least, was capable of putting their differences aside for the duration of the holiday, and that Arthur was being churlish in the extreme if he couldn’t bring himself to do the same. 

 

Aside from the gift he had been given by Uther, Arthur received a leather-bound date book from Leon and Morgana, and a packet of _Harry Potter_ -themed neckties from Mordred, who beamed shyly when Arthur thanked him and immediately sat down to put one on. Mordred himself received the lion’s share of the presents, as was fitting for the only child in attendance, and Arthur was amused to see the twin looks of horror and despair on Leon and Morgana’s faces when their son unwrapped a brand new Yamaha recorder, with which he promptly demonstrated no musical talent whatsoever.

 

“He’ll be needing it next year for school,” said Uther complacently, ducking behind his wine glass when Morgana turned to glare at him, and Arthur wondered if that was his father’s idea of a joke.

 

All too soon, however, the meal was over, and Arthur found himself staring down the barrel of several distraction-free hours as he waited for the evening’s festivities to begin. Morgana had once again excused herself to see to the catering, and Uther disappeared into his study shortly afterwards, no doubt intending to smoke his customary cigar in peace before the house was completely overrun. Meanwhile, Leon took Mordred into the conservatory, where he had made grim promises to teach the boy a tune on his new instrument or die trying, which left Arthur to while away his time with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

 

He let himself out onto the terrace, shivering slightly in the cold air, then strolled along beside the balustrade, his gaze drawn inevitably in the direction of Ealdor. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see much more than a few rooftops, clustered together on the horizon and emitting spirals of blue-grey smoke that drifted lazily upwards. If he concentrated, however, he half imagined he could feel the villagers’ excitement even at this distance, the same sense of restless anticipation that drove his pulse into a higher gear and made it impossible for him to sit still.

 

The last time he could remember being this nervous was the day he had finally asked Merlin out in earnest. They had been friends for a while before that, insofar as two boys who inhabited such different spheres _could_ be friends, and Arthur had always been drawn to Merlin’s particular brand of self-confidence, the way he seemed to take everything in stride no matter what anyone said. Arthur himself had always been considered too-serious and too-intense, prone to brooding over subjects that were of little interest to the rest of his peers, and while he had always been popular amongst his own set, he’d had the nagging suspicion that this was more to do with his father than because of his own personality. Merlin had always been the exception to that rule—even though they had only seen one another during the holidays, he seemed to understand Arthur in a way that the other boys did not, and by the time Arthur realised that his feelings for the tall, gangly village boy might be somewhat other than just platonic, he had already been a fair way towards falling in love.

 

He still remembered the feeling; he’d been standing across from Snapdragons, waiting for Merlin to come out, rehearsing the words in his head so that he could get them just right— _so, Merlin, I was wondering..._ And then Merlin himself had emerged, tripping over his own feet as usual, and Arthur had been struck dumb with the enormity of it, his voice caught somewhere between ‘holy shit, you’re gorgeous’ and ‘how the fuck are you such an idiot?’ Merlin hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss, chattering away in defiance of Arthur’s monosyllabic responses, and when Arthur had finally unfrozen long enough to blurt out his question— _Merlinyouwangwoutwithme_ —Merlin had only laughed and asked what had taken him so long.

 

“If you were so impatient about it, why didn’t _you_ ask _me_?” Arthur demanded, indignant at having his struggles dismissed so cavalierly. But Merlin had shaken his head, looking uncharacteristically serious.

 

“No way,” he said. “Too risky. You might have said no, and then where would I be?”

 

“ _You_ might have said no to _me_ ,” Arthur pointed out. “It’s not like that was any easier.”

 

But Merlin just grinned, slipping his hand into Arthur’s own and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t be an ass,” he said, his accent turning the word into something spiky and cock-sure. “I was always a sure thing.”

 

It had been fun, at first, sneaking around behind his father’s back, kissing Merlin behind the florist’s shop and making him come amidst the scent of warm earth and growing things. For the first time in his life Arthur had felt like he was enough—like he didn’t have to keep _trying_ anymore, because Merlin liked him just the way he was. He could tell Merlin about things he had never admitted to another soul, like the apprentice gardener he’d had a crush on when he was eleven who had taught him how to fish, and the way he sometimes wondered whether he was related to Morgana at all, since she seemed to be able to get along with Uther so much better than he did. In return, Merlin told him about snogging Will behind the bicycle sheds when he was twelve, and all the daydreams he’d used to have about his dad coming back some day, full of apologies and presents, with a story that would somehow make up for all the years he’d spent away.

 

He probably should have known that it was too good to last, but at the time it hadn’t occurred to him that things might not turn out exactly the way they’d planned. They were Arthur and Merlin, ArthurandMerlin, inseparable. And now, here he was, eight and a half years later, staying in a house he’d sworn never to come back to, about to face a man who no longer acknowledged he existed.

 

Arthur watched the smoke rising from the village until the sun set, and he could no longer make out the streaks of grey against the violet and blue. Inside, he could hear the occasional squeal of Mordred’s recorder, along with the strains of the brass band now warming up in the ballroom, and downstairs the grandfather clock had begun to strike the hour.

 

It was time.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Arthur was kept busy for the first part of the evening, making the rounds among the guests and fielding their questions about his lengthy absence. He had most of the story down pat by now; a sudden change of plans, a desire to see the world before university, using the intervening years to ‘find himself’—most people were content not to investigate any further. Eventually, however, Arthur retreated to one corner of the ballroom with his brother-in-law, keeping one eye on the crowd of faces for the one person he was most eager to see.

 

“Still no sign of him, then?” Leon asked, his amused voice breaking into Arthur’s thoughts and making him jump. Guiltily, he dragged his gaze away from the crowd and looked over at his brother-in-law, who was watching him with an expectant expression, both of his eyebrows raised. Not for the first time, Arthur had lost track of what they were talking about, too busy looking for Merlin to concentrate on what was being said, and although he could tell from Leon’s grin that he wasn’t really upset, he could feel himself flushing as he realised he’d been caught.

 

“I’m not waiting for anyone,” he denied, despite knowing that it would do him little good. “I was just...distracted, that’s all. Admiring the decorations.”

 

“Right.” Leon slanted a sideways glance at him. “And I’m the King of England.” He bit into a crab puff, chewed, and swallowed, then washed it down with a decorous sip of champagne. “Morgana said she hasn’t seen him either, so I guess that means he hasn’t arrived yet. I know she’s been greeting everyone as they come in, so I don’t think he could have slipped past her.”

 

Arthur let out his breath. “What an astute observation, Your Majesty,” he said drily, not wanting Leon to know that he was relieved. “Perhaps you could also tell me how the Queen is doing while you’re about it.”

 

“Oh, the Queen’s doing fine.” Leon grinned. “Having dinner with her grandkids, playing with the corgis and all that rot. She sends her regards.”

 

Arthur snorted and shook his head, but at least the banter went some way towards calming his nerves. He shifted his weight and glanced around the room for the umpteenth time, scrutinising the many faces milling beneath the brilliant chandeliers in case he had somehow missed Merlin’s entrance, even though he knew he hadn’t. It was nearly eight o’clock, and Merlin still hadn’t shown up. What if he’d elected to stay home with his family instead? Morgana had never mentioned whether they’d all RSVP’d, and Arthur hadn’t thought to ask her. He took a nervous sip from his glass, wincing at the sharpness of the bubbles on his tongue. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: for Merlin to be there but determined to avoid him, or for him to simply never turn up at all.

 

“He’ll be here,” Leon said, as though reading his thoughts. He patted Arthur on the shoulder, smiling when Arthur blinked at him. “Relax. You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. He probably just got caught up in something. Or maybe he’s nervous about seeing you.”

 

“You don’t know Merlin,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “He doesn’t react to nerves like a normal person. He’s the type of bloke who thinks running at the scary thing while yelling his head off will get it to leave him alone.”

 

That made Leon laugh. “And does it work?”

 

“Sometimes,” Arthur admitted. “Although not with bees, as it happens. Turns out, that’s the best way to get yourself landed in A&E.”

 

Leon was still chuckling into his drink when Arthur spotted him: he had come in a few minutes behind their neighbour, Mr Simmons, and was now shaking hands with Morgana, his high cheekbones kicking off in the bright light, fairy lights dusting his hair with colour. Up until that moment, Arthur had half believed he had dreamed their encounter outside of Snapdragons, but there he was: Merlin Emrys, large as life, standing inside the foyer of Arthur’s childhood home. Arthur’s fingers seemed to lose some of their natural grip, and he would likely have dropped his glass had Leon not realised what was happening and stepped in to take it from him.

 

“Steady on,” Leon said, setting it on the sideboard. He didn’t bother asking what was the matter, confirming Arthur’s initial impression that he was both observant _and_ smarter than he looked. In any case, it was kind of obvious that Merlin had arrived, particularly since Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

 

Merlin looked—stunning. Standing in the entranceway next to Morgana, he was dressed in a simple navy suit that had been carefully tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and slender frame. His uncharacteristically long hair was just barely held in check, curling over his forehead in a way that made Arthur itch to smooth it back, and he was smiling at Morgana with a wary expression that spoke volumes about how pleased he was to be back at Camelot House. As Arthur watched, his sister laid a hand on Merlin’s arm and said something that made him laugh, his ears turning pink, and Arthur’s heart kicked into overdrive.

 

“I’m just going to—” he said, gesturing in their direction, and Leon nodded with a smile, making encouraging motions with his glass. Arthur grinned nervously back, smoothing the front of his jacket as he took a deep breath and began to elbow his way through the crowd.

 

He could tell the exact moment when Merlin spotted him. His face went blank, freezing for an instant as though he were trying to decide how best to react. He murmured something to Morgana and she turned, too, shooting Arthur a narrow-eyed glance before going back to her conversation.

 

“—living in London now, actually,” he heard her saying as he drew closer, “but this is the first time he’s visited us in quite a while. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it.” She smiled, and Arthur was pretty sure he was the only one who caught the slightly malicious edge to her voice. “Arthur, come and entertain Merlin for me, won’t you, darling? I’m afraid I have to go and say hello to some of the other guests, but I won’t be long.”

 

She caught hold of Arthur’s arm and squeezed it as she passed, her long fingernails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit, and Arthur thought he understood what she was trying to say: _This is your chance, little brother. Don’t you dare screw it up_. Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd, and Arthur was left to face Merlin alone.

 

His first thought was that, up close, Merlin had hardly changed at all. Despite the hair and the suit, and the subtle hint of a beard now shadowing his chin, he didn’t look much older than nineteen or twenty, and his eyes when they met Arthur’s were the same startling shade of blue. When he smiled, however, the difference was striking—gone was the confident, overeager boy that Arthur had known, and in his place stood a mature adult, still with the same outgoing nature, but tempered now by caution and something like regret. The effect was rather like looking into a funhouse mirror, all the things Arthur had expected to see distorted slightly by the passage of time.

 

“So—it’s good to see you,” Merlin said, when a few moments had passed without Arthur making any effort to speak. “It’s been a long time.”

 

“Eight and a half years,” Arthur supplied automatically, then wanted to kick himself. Of course Merlin knew how long it had been. “I mean—yes, it’s been a long time.” 

 

“Too long.” Merlin smiled. “I always wondered what happened to you, after you left Ealdor. Morgana tells me you ended up in Canada for a while?”

 

There was an implied question somewhere underneath his words, but Arthur couldn’t tell if it was actual curiosity or if he was just making polite conversation.

 

“Yes, I went to university there for a couple of years,” he said, deciding to assume the latter. If Merlin wanted to know about anything more personal, then he could always ask. “Got my degree in architecture and started working for a British firm shortly after I graduated. I’ve been back in the UK for about eleven months now.”

 

He watched Merlin’s face, wondering if he was surprised by the news, but Merlin just nodded like this was exactly what he had been expecting. “Congratulations,” he said, holding Arthur’s gaze steadily. “I hope it’s living up to your expectations.”

 

“More or less.” Arthur thought of his empty flat in London, the long hours spent poring over plans and arguing over appropriate model scaling. Once upon a time, it had been his dream job, far more so than the legal career his father had mapped out for him, and most of the time he still enjoyed the technical aspect of it, the part where he got to come up with ideas and solve problems to help his clients get what they wanted. He had worked hard to get to where he was, and he’d done it on his own, without his father’s influence, but there were still days when he was acutely aware of how much older he was than some of his coworkers, and how much further away from the things he really wanted out of life.

 

Perhaps something of what he was feeling came across in his tone, because he saw Merlin frown slightly, and wondered if he, too, was thinking about the younger Arthur and all of his aspirations. Had it not been for the years that stood between them, Arthur might have told him the truth—might have explained that what he really wanted to do wasn’t to design new condos and skyscrapers but to do something better, something with a bit more _soul._ But this new, small-talking Merlin was too much of a stranger to make that kind of honesty feasible, and so he held his tongue.

 

“And yourself?” he asked, when the silence threatened to turn into something awkward. “What have you been doing these past few years?”

 

Merlin lifted one shoulder, glancing away from Arthur and off into the crowd. “I’m a teacher,” he said. “Graduated from Cambridge like we planned, then went back and did my PhD so that I could convince them to give me a job.” He gave a wry smile. “It’s a tough economy for English majors these days, as you probably know.”  

 

Arthur smiled politely and agreed, although as a matter of fact he knew nothing of the sort. “And your family?” he asked, hoping to keep the ball rolling. “I didn’t see them come in with you—they are well, I hope?”

 

“Mum and Gaius are both in Barcelona,” Merlin explained, his face lighting up with genuine enthusiasm for the first time that evening. “Off on a Christmas cruise, if you can believe it. I offered to watch the shop for them over the holidays, since I won’t be needed back until after the Christmas break. That way they won’t have to miss out on all the holiday revenue.”

 

“Ah, I see. That was kind of you.”

 

Merlin shrugged. “It wasn’t as if I had anywhere else to be,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “And I found the idea of a couple of quiet weeks in the country rather appealing at the time.”

 

Arthur nodded his understanding, and again the conversation faltered. Shifting his weight, Arthur glanced around in hopes of spotting Leon or Morgana, but his treacherous sister and her equally conniving husband were nowhere to be seen. He did manage to locate his father, however, who was watching Merlin with a suspicious frown while he chatted with some of the other guests, and with a jolt Arthur realised that Uther had probably put two and two together by now and figured out exactly what his children had been arguing about the night before. No doubt he also had also come to his own conclusions about just who Merlin was and what he meant to Arthur, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

 

Merlin must have spotted him, too; or perhaps he just caught Arthur’s reaction.

 

“Look, Arthur—I can go, if you want,” he said, his voice low and unexpectedly serious. When Arthur looked back at him, startled, the polite mask that he had been wearing a minute before was gone, leaving in its place a familiar earnest expression. “I know this is awkward, me being here, and if you really don’t want to talk to me, I understand. I shouldn’t have come, I just—when Morgana sent me an invitation, I thought...” He made a helpless gesture, and Arthur felt the muscles of his throat contract almost painfully as he swallowed. The idea that Merlin might have _wanted_ to come to the party had never crossed his mind. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave you alone.”

 

“No, wait.” Arthur stepped towards him before he could turn away, and Merlin stopped. He glanced over at Uther, whose attention was now most definitely fixed on the pair of them, and then back into Arthur’s face, his gaze questioning. “I—can we talk? Really talk, I mean, somewhere where we don’t have an audience?”

 

Merlin continued to study him for a long moment, and Arthur was all too aware of his own shaky breathing, the glottal triple-thud of his racing heart. “All right,” Merlin said finally, squaring his shoulders. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Arthur led Merlin into Uther’s study and closed the door behind him, cutting off the sound of music and voices that had followed them down the hall. The sudden stillness made the place seem oddly bereft, and though there was a fire blazing brightly in the hearth, the rest of the room was unlit, casting them both into shadow.

 

How quickly they had reverted to old habits, Arthur thought wryly. The two of them had spent many a happy hour tucked away in dark corners once upon a time, though usually with something other than talking on their minds. He had kissed Merlin in this very room, once, having been under the (mistaken) impression that the leather sofa would be a good place for an impromptu make-out session. Merlin had ended up with rug burns all along his back and Arthur had nearly died of fright when one of the maids tried to unlock the door for some last-minute cleaning, but it had been worth it to see Merlin’s pale skin spread out against the dark upholstery, the way his half-slitted eyes burned gold in the light from the fire.

 

“This place looks almost exactly the same,” Merlin said, as though reading Arthur’s mind. Perhaps his thoughts had taken the same turn that Arthur’s had, or perhaps he was just in a nostalgic mood, because he was walking slowly around the room, occasionally running one finger gently along the dusty shelves. “I guess you guys don’t really redecorate that often, do you?”

 

He looked over his shoulder and smiled, and in spite of himself, Arthur couldn’t help smiling back. “My father is nothing if not a traditionalist,” he agreed, searching for a safe place to set down his champagne. “If he had his way, no one would have ever moved on from the eighteen hundreds.”

 

Merlin let out a snort and nodded, apparently acknowledging the point, then finally sat down at the far end of the sofa, tucking one foot beneath his thigh and gesturing for Arthur to join him. Arthur went warily, careful to keep a respectable distance between them, but if Merlin noticed his hesitation then he didn’t comment.

 

“So,” he said, when they were both settled comfortably. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

 

“I...didn’t really get that far,” Arthur confessed, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. Being in the same room as Merlin again, finding himself the subject of his undivided attention, was kind of unnerving, but it was also familiar in the best way, like slipping into a pair of comfortable pyjamas at the end of a long day. Even the butterflies in Arthur’s stomach were familiar, if somewhat less appreciated. “I thought, after the way you ignored me the other day, that you might have preferred to stay at home.”

 

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, Merlin looked somewhat embarrassed. “You took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you standing in the exact same spot, looking over at me like...” His voice trailed off, as though unable to finish the sentence, but Arthur understood.

 

“It was a bit _I am the ghost of Christmas Past_ ,” he said, affecting a sepulchral tone, and Merlin smiled. “But as you can see, rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

 

“I’m glad.” The corners of Merlin’s eyes crinkled. “I didn’t really fancy being haunted, to tell you the truth.”

 

“Very disruptive,” Arthur agreed. “Lots of moaning and wailing.”

 

“All those clanking chains.” Merlin smirked, but his lighthearted expression soon faded, and he looked down at his hands. “To be honest, I was mostly worried that you would disappear again before I got the chance to talk to you. You were always—” He paused to scrub a hand over his face, his eyes closed. “You were always very good at leaving, especially when I wanted you to stay.”

 

And there it was, the last echo of their worst ever argument; the one that had ended with Merlin throwing Arthur out of his house and vowing never to speak to him again. He groped sightlessly for his drink and drained it, then set it down again. It didn’t seem to help.

 

“I told you why that was,” he said, the words coming out stilted and wrong around the tightness in his throat. “You always talked about it like it was my fault, but it wasn’t as though I _wanted_ to stay away from you. It was—”

 

“—your father. Yeah, I know.” Merlin’s mouth twisted. “He wanted you to date girls and befriend soccer players, just like he wanted you to go to Oxford and become a corporate lawyer, and to marry Mithian Nemeth as soon as you turned twenty-one. Yet I notice you seemed to have no trouble resisting _those_ demands.”

 

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then after a moment closed it again. Merlin had never understood his relationship with his father—how could he? His mother had always been a loving parent, and Merlin had idolised his own absentee dad since he was small. He had no frame of reference for Uther’s cutting remarks, the endless lectures on grades and social standing, just as he had no idea how much it had cost Arthur every time he stood up to his father, even in the simplest of ways. Arthur had tried to explain it to him once, but they were at the age when everyone seemed to be having arguments with their parents, and Arthur hadn’t been able to explain the difference between ‘my dad will be really mad at me’ and the unrelenting, glacial silence that would overtake the house when Uther was in one of his rages.

 

He pushed himself to his feet and strode over to the fireplace, taking up a position as far away from Merlin as he could and turning his back on him. Even standing this close to the blaze, he couldn’t seem to get warm, and he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to stimulate the blood flow before tucking them beneath his armpits.

 

“I couldn’t bear for him to find out about us,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. “Not just for the obvious reasons, but because I—you—you were the only thing I had in those days that he couldn’t control. The only thing that was really _mine_.” He stopped, groping for a better way to put his feelings into words and coming up short. It didn’t matter, anyway. If Merlin didn’t get it by now, he probably never would, and Arthur wasn’t about to waste his breath explaining when it wouldn’t make any difference. “I’m sorry. I know I was selfish. You deserved someone who wasn’t afraid to be open about who they were and who they—who they loved.”

 

He heard Merlin draw in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “That wasn’t really the problem,” he said quietly. The leather squeaked as he shifted his weight, and Arthur heard him sigh. “Or at least, not all of it. I don’t think I would have minded keeping things a secret so much if it didn’t seem like it was an excuse to get rid of me.”

 

Frowning, Arthur turned back towards him. “What are you talking about? I never wanted to get rid of you. I barely saw you enough as it was.” 

 

“I know that’s what you _said_. But whenever we did manage to get together, you always had some kind of family thing to run off to, or your dad called and wanted you to come home, or—” Merlin looked away, making an impatient movement with one hand. “I guess I felt like you were always hanging out with Mithian, or Lance, or any of your other friends, but you never seemed to have time for me.”

 

“That’s because I wasn’t secretly _dating_ any of my other friends,” Arthur said, exasperated. “My father knew all of them, and their parents, and he kept tabs on everything I did; he was already suspicious of the amount of time I spent at Mithian’s place, I told you that.”

 

“I know, I just…” Merlin dropped his head and mumbled into his lap, “I always thought maybe you had a thing for her, and that was why you kept on making all those excuses—because you wanted to hang out with her instead.”

 

“You _what?_ ” Incredulous, Arthur took a step back and stared at him, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious? Mithian was _gay_ the last time I checked, and for that matter so am I. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have worked out.”

 

“Well, yes, I know that _now_ ,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. His cheeks were a little pink, but that could have been from the fire. “But at the time I thought she was straight, and your parents were always pushing the two of you together, so I thought…”

 

“Well, you thought wrong,” Arthur said firmly. “Mithian and I were good friends, sure, but that was all. The reason we were thrown together so much was because our fathers both worked for the same firm, and I was the only parentally-approved boy she could spend time with. Why do you think they were so keen to set us up together in the first place? We were already _associates_.” He made a face. “They made it sound like a bloody business merger. Trust me, even if I was into girls, Mithian was the last person I would have gone for, for that reason alone.”

 

Merlin’s eyes had gone wide. “Oh my god,” he said. “I never even thought of that.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Arthur pursed his lips. “You never were big on thinking, were you?”

 

“Ass,” Merlin said, but without heat. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “God, we were a right pair of idiots, weren’t we? If only we had _talked_ to each other…”

 

“As I recall, talking never really seemed to solve much. We always ended up either fighting or fucking. Or both.”

 

Merlin’s flush darkened, but his smile when he met Arthur’s eyes was real, even a little mischievous. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think that part worked pretty well, all things considered.”

 

Arthur huffed out a reluctant laugh, and he could have sworn he saw Merlin’s gaze flick down to his mouth for a moment before he looked up again.

 

“Merlin—” he began, his heart beating fast. But Merlin shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall him.

 

“No, wait,” he said. “I really want to say this. In fact, I—it’s part of the reason that I wanted to come here tonight, so that I could do things properly.” He took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, scuffing one shoe across the carpet as he searched for the right words. “I’m so—so sorry about how I ended things that night. I should never have pushed you so hard or been so quick to think the worst of you. I know better than that—I _knew_ better than that, but to be honest, whenever I saw you and Mithian together I got so jealous that I couldn’t think straight. I should at least have listened when you tried to explain.”

 

“You were jealous?”

 

“I was practically green with it,” Merlin confessed with a tiny laugh. “You know what Mith was like. Beautiful, smart, popular…not to mention richer than God. Say what you like about your father’s choices, you have to admit that she would have been perfect for you.”

 

“Yeah, perfect,” Arthur agreed, before he could stop himself. “Except that she wasn’t you.”

 

Their eyes caught and held. It was impossible to read anything in Merlin’s face—it seemed to have been wiped clean of all expression. After a long moment, he got up, and Arthur watched him as he paced the length of the room before stopping in front of the fire to stare into the crackling flames. 

 

“If you thought that, then why did you never get in touch with me?” he asked in a small voice. “Why did you just—leave, and never look back?”

 

“I thought you hated me.” Arthur stood, drawn in spite of himself to respond to Merlin’s pain, but stopped short a few inches from the hearth. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, and—well. I guess I thought you meant it.” He tried to muster a smile, but it fell miserably short. “It was kind of a theme at the time.”

 

Merlin frowned, and when it became clear that he didn’t understand, Arthur elaborated. “My father and I had a row. A big one, after I came home from seeing you. He kicked me out. I guess I kind of figured that if he didn’t want me around, and the two of us weren’t together anymore, I might as well just…leave.” He swallowed and glanced into the fire, remembering how hard it had been to turn his back on Ealdor and everything Merlin had meant to him. “There was nothing left to keep me here.”

 

“There was,” Merlin said softly. He turned, and Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat as Merlin took hold of his arm, looking earnestly into his face. “Everything I said to you—I regretted it immediately, you know. I went over to apologise the next morning, but your father said you were out, and then he said you were staying with a friend, and then he just stopped answering the door to me altogether. By the time I realised you were gone for good, it was too late to figure out where you went.”

 

His voice wavered a little on the last words, making Arthur’s stomach contract with long-ago guilt. He had always wondered how Merlin reacted to his sudden departure, whether he’d been upset or worried, if he’d tried to find Arthur at all or just decided to let him go. Now it seemed like he had his answer.

 

“There was something else I wanted to ask you,” Merlin said finally. He was staring at his hand on Arthur’s arm like he couldn’t remember putting it there, and when he looked up there was a determined, almost reckless expression on his face that Arthur knew well. “I was wondering—I mean, if you wanted to, maybe, I thought we could—”

 

The study door opened.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Uther stood in the doorway, glass of champagne in hand, a look of shock and anger fixed on his autocratic face. Merlin dropped Arthur’s arm and stepped away from him as though stung, but Arthur stood his ground, meeting his father’s incredulous stare with one of his own. His heart was still thumping wildly in his chest, and he wished more than anything that they hadn’t been interrupted. What was it Merlin had been about to say?

 

“I should have known you hadn’t changed,” Uther said into the ringing silence, his voice heavy with contempt as he looked at Arthur. “Your sister told me you came home to mend some fences, but apparently she was mistaken. You’re still determined to make a mockery of your family name.”

 

“We’ve been over this,” Arthur said, and he was surprised to hear that his voice wasn’t even shaking. “I’m not trying to make a mockery of anything, you _know_ that. My personal life has nothing to do with you.”

 

“I’ll notify your sister that you will be leaving in the morning,” Uther went on, ignoring this entirely. “I’m sure she won’t mind when I tell her what I just witnessed.” His lip curled. “After all, she has Mordred’s safety to think of.”

 

“I’m gay, not an axe murderer!” Arthur snapped. “For God’s sake, Father.”

 

“Regardless, Mordred is at a very impressionable age. Had he been the one to walk in on the two of you, it could have been quite damaging—”

 

“He’s five years old, I think he can handle two men _talking_ —”

 

“ _Talking_.” Uther sneered. “Don’t insult me by trying to pretend that’s what it was. He’s been waiting to get his claws into you ever since you returned, surely you must see that. I know his type—he tried to corrupt you when you were a child—”

 

“That’s enough.” This time, Arthur’s voice wobbled dangerously, and he dug his nails into his palms in an effort to bring it under control. “Merlin has _never_ tried to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do, which is more than I can say for you or my sister.”

 

“We only wanted what was best for you!” Uther growled. “You would have finished university years earlier if it hadn’t been for that boy—he could have cost you your entire future! How many times must I tell you, if you allow yourself to associate with people of this sort, they will eventually drag you down to their level. You can’t afford to be careless, Arthur, not if you want to really _be_ somebody someday. You must stop allowing your hormones to override your common sense.”

 

Arthur’s mouth snapped shut, heat flooding his cheeks as he groped for words. He was only peripherally aware of Merlin’s equally stunned expression beside him, of his father’s furious and imperious face. There were beads of sweat on Uther’s forehead, his breathing ragged, and for the first time Arthur remembered his condition. He exhaled slowly, trying to let go of his rage.

 

“Very well, Father,” he said quietly. “If that’s how you feel about it, we’ll go.”

 

Uther made an affronted noise. “You can’t just _leave_ ,” he said, as though this were preposterous. “We have guests!”

 

“I think you’ll find that I can,” Arthur said, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve done it before, haven’t I? Besides, Merlin has already offered to put me up at his place for the night. I think it would be better for everyone if I accepted his invitation.”

 

He took Merlin’s hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing them tightly. Merlin’s eyes were still as round as saucers, but he squeezed back at once without hesitation, and some of the tension in Arthur’s stomach lessened. Uther’s narrowed eyes were focused on their clasped hands; it was obvious from his expression that he thought he knew exactly what Merlin’s ‘offer’ implied, but Arthur didn’t stay to find out how he felt about it.

 

“I’ll be back for my things in the morning,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, and still clutching Merlin’s hand he made a beeline for the door.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

“I am so sorry,” Arthur said, letting Merlin go as soon as they were out of sight of the main doors. He checked over his shoulder to ensure Uther hadn’t followed them, but could see only the lighted windows and the blurred outlines of the guests inside. His father obviously didn’t think he was worth chasing after. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I just…I had to get out of there.”

 

“It’s fine.” Merlin still looked a little shell-shocked, the fingers of his freed hand flexing slightly as though in surprise. “Really. I don’t mind. I would have offered to let you stay at mine after that, anyway.”

 

“Still.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken you in eight and a half years and then the first time we manage to have a proper conversation, I drop you right in the middle of my family drama.”

 

“Arthur.” Merlin caught hold of his wrist and drew him gently to a stop. “Don’t. I’ve always been part of your family drama, remember?”

 

Arthur shot him a grateful smile. “I was kind of hoping to break with tradition this year,” he said. “Guess I should have known better.”

 

“Guess you should’ve,” Merlin agreed. He nudged Arthur’s shoulder companionably, and they resumed walking down the long drive towards Merlin’s car. In the moonlight, the countryside seemed very still, nothing like the bustle and glamour of the city Arthur had left behind. The village lights winked through the darkness like votive candles, the sky above him clear and cloudless, scattered with thousands of tiny stars.

 

Camelot was beautiful—a fact which Arthur had never really appreciated when he was a boy. Back then, he’d only seen the emptiness of it, the space between the way things were and the way he wanted them to be. Now he thought perhaps he liked how peaceful it was, the way the gentle undulations of the land lapped up against the house like a frozen sea. The tranquility of the place helped to ease some of the nervous tension that had gripped him during the altercation with Uther, so that he started only a little when Merlin said abruptly,

 

“Was he always like that, your father? I mean, when we were kids?”

 

Arthur laughed wryly. “Believe it or not, that was actually quite restrained, for him. He was probably trying not to attract attention.”

 

“Christ. I remember him being strict, but nothing like that.”

 

“He wasn’t so bad, really. I mean, he never hit us or anything. He didn't even yell at us very often. He just…wasn’t there, most of the time. And when he was, it was mostly to criticise.”

 

Merlin was silent for a while, their quiet footsteps in the snow the only sound. Arthur glanced at him sidelong, watching the play of shadows across his face, and wondered what he was thinking. He could still feel the imprint of Merlin’s hand in his, the way Merlin’s fingers had curled into his grip instinctively and held on, and he had to look away again in case he gave something away with his expression.

 

“How can Morgana put up with him?”

 

Arthur shrugged. “I think she stopped caring what he thought of her a long time ago. She’s always had a thicker skin than I have.”

 

He saw Merlin nod out of the corner of his eye. “You always were a very sensitive boy,” he said solemnly, a grin twitching at the edges of his mouth.

 

“Shut up.” Arthur shoved him, and the two of them jostled back and forth like children as they went down the driveway, each doing their best to trip the other up or push him into a snowbank. It was stupid, but for some reason Arthur couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and it looked like Merlin couldn’t either. Every now and then Arthur would catch him stealing glances from beneath his lashes, his lips quirked into that silly grin Arthur remembered so well, cheeks flushed red as he tried to hold in his laughter. The sight caused a kind of swooping sensation in Arthur’s gut, something that felt dangerously close to happiness.

 

“This is me,” Merlin said finally, stopping in front of a beat-up old car that was parked near the very end of the drive. “Just hop in; I didn’t bother to lock it.”

 

“Planning on making a quick getaway?” Arthur asked, sliding into the passenger seat. Merlin shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Something like that.” He stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine right away, instead turning to look at Arthur. “Listen,” he said, and Arthur braced himself. “About your dad.”

 

“I know what he's like,” Arthur said immediately, before Merlin could go on. “You don’t have to tell me."

 

“No, I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

 

“ _You’re_ sorry?”

 

Merlin nodded, looking down at his fingers where they were still gripping the steering wheel. He was chewing on his lower lip the way he always did when he was nervous, a stray lock of hair falling over one eye. “I always thought you were exaggerating about him, you know? That you were just, I don’t know, ashamed to be seen with me, or something. I didn’t realise your father was going to react like _that_.” He smiled a little, though it was slightly forced. “So, yeah. I’m sorry, Arthur. You deserved better. You still do.”

 

Arthur swallowed hard. Outside, it had begun to snow, just lightly, the small flakes melting on the windscreen before they could settle. The tips of his fingers still stung with the cold, but inside it was as if something was thawing, giving way in an uncomfortable flood of emotion that was too rapid and too jumbled for him to sort out. Finally, after clearing a suspiciously lump-filled throat, he said, “I appreciate that, I guess. Thank you.”

 

“Any time,” Merlin said, and put the car in gear.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Merlin’s house was, in many ways, exactly as Arthur remembered it. The flower-beds were well-kept and tidy beneath their dusting of snow, the front verandah swept clean of any lingering drifts. The outside light was still on, shining brightly in welcome as they turned in to the drive, illuminating the stained glass roses on the front door and the wreath that Hunith Emrys hung up every Christmas, still studded with flashing fairy lights. 

 

“I always forget to turn that thing off,” Merlin said sheepishly as they got out of the car. They hadn’t spoken much on the way in, Arthur too caught up in his thoughts and Merlin focused on keeping his eyes on the road. Now that they were here, however, the silence seemed awkward, and Arthur wished he had thought of something to tell his father that didn’t entail his spending the night at Merlin’s mother’s house. Suddenly, it seemed like a terrible idea.

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said awkwardly, hovering on the top step as Merlin dug around for the key. “The Rising Sun isn’t far, I could just walk over and—”

 

“Don’t be stupid.” Merlin smiled at him, finally producing a battered house key that looked about a hundred years old. He opened the door and flicked on the lights, gesturing for Arthur to follow him inside. “It’s not like I don’t have the room. Besides, it’s Christmas! I can’t just turn you out into the snow. What would Santa say?”

 

Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes, but the tension was broken, and he felt a little better as he followed Merlin into the familiar living room.

 

The Emryses had always lived modestly. Compared with what Arthur’s life had been up at the hall, the cottage was cramped and a little shabby, crammed with sagging bookshelves, faded prints, and overstuffed furniture. What it lacked in terms of size and refinement, however, it made up for by virtue of being what Camelot House was not: a home. Arthur toed off his shoes in the foyer and wandered into the living room, trailing his fingers over all the photos and family mementoes that decorated the shelves. The frames were all mismatched and kitschy, but the faces inside them were cheerful and glowing with life. He even recognised himself in some of them, much younger but just as happy, his face turned towards Merlin’s more often than not.

 

“You can take Uncle Gaius’ room,” Merlin was saying, looking back over his shoulder as he made his way towards the kitchen. In typical Merlin fashion, he was shedding his outer layers as he went, draping coat, scarf, and hat over random items of furniture as he passed with absolutely no regard for organisation. “It’s a bit small but I don’t think he’ll mind.”

 

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “For all of this. I know I said so before, but I really didn’t mean to gatecrash your Christmas.”

 

“You’re not gatecrashing anything,” Merlin assured him. “Without Mum and Gaius, I was going to have a pretty quiet night anyway. It’s—it’s nice, not to be alone for the holidays.”

 

He glanced down at his hands as he said it, and Arthur watched the tightness of his mouth and eyes, wondering how often Merlin had been alone in his life. He had never struck Arthur as the lonely sort; with his cheerful nature and ability to make friends easily, Arthur had always assumed that Merlin would never be alone except by choice. But perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps Merlin had been lonelier than he realised.

 

“You want some hot chocolate?” Merlin asked, to cover the slightly uncomfortable pause. Arthur nodded, trailing him into the kitchen to retrieve a pair of mugs from under the counter. He couldn’t get over how familiar the place was, even though it had been years since he’d last set foot there. There were lines of tinsel wound around the curtain rails—Hunith must have decorated the place before she left—and a tiny snowman sat in the middle of the windowsill. An advent calendar had been hung on the far wall, all twenty-five of its little cardboard windows gaping open.

 

“My sole contribution to the decorations this year,” Merlin said, following Arthur’s gaze. “Naturally, it’s edible.”

 

“Of course,” Arthur said, grinning in recollection. “Did you at least manage to wait until Christmas this time, or were they all gone within five days as usual?”

 

The way Merlin flushed and turned away from him, ostensibly to check the milk on the stove, indicated that his guess had been correct, and Arthur shook his head.

 

“You really haven’t changed,” he said, half amused, half wondering. He could see the back of Merlin’s neck turning pink, and had to blink back the sudden wave of nostalgia that threatened to overtake him. Once, he would have kissed that neck, following the blush down between Merlin’s shoulder blades and beneath his shirt, and Merlin would have let him. He would have laughed at Arthur’s complaints about never getting any chocolate, telling him that he needed to watch his waistline, which in turn would have caused Arthur to find that sensitive spot beneath his ribs and tickle him until he squirmed. The milk would likely have boiled over by the time they were through, and Merlin would have grumbled all the way through the clean-up, no doubt making Arthur scrub the burn from the bottom of the pan as penance. The thought was an oddly attractive one, and Arthur could feel his own cheeks burning as he realised that just picturing it was enough to make him hard. He cleared his throat and sat down at the table, arranging himself so as to conceal the lower half of his body. “I guess once an idiot, always an idiot.”

 

“You mean once a chocoholic, always a chocoholic,” Merlin corrected him. “Although I seem to remember I wasn’t the only one.”

 

The smile he shot over his shoulder was sly but sweet, which didn’t help Arthur’s predicament any, and he huffed out a kind of strangled laugh in response, hoping like hell that Merlin couldn’t read him as well as he used to. Fortunately, the milk chose that moment to begin to boil, distracting Merlin’s attention, so that by the time he had finished mixing the chocolate Arthur had managed to get his involuntary reactions under control. He watched as Merlin added some miniature marshmallows to his own cup—Arthur hated them, but Merlin couldn’t get enough of the stupid things—then carried them both over to the table, setting down the one with plain whipped cream in front of Arthur.

 

“Thanks,” he said. Merlin nodded back, and their hands brushed as Arthur drew the cup towards him. He suppressed a shiver.

 

They talked about mostly nothing while they sipped at their drinks, avoiding by tacit agreement the most awkward subjects between them: Arthur’s father, the break-up, anything to do with their own love lives. Instead, Merlin filled Arthur in on what some of their school friends had been up to over the years, since in cutting himself off from his life at Camelot, Arthur had necessarily lost contact with them, too.

 

“Gwen and Lance broke up, if you can believe it,” Merlin said, dunking his marshmallows under the surface of the chocolate with his spoon. Arthur watched as he prodded them all one by one, ensuring that they each received maximum exposure to the chocolate in order to melt them properly. It was pathetically endearing, for something so very disgusting. “Once they got to uni, Lance decided he needed to give Gwen some time alone to ‘find herself.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. “So he broke up with her on the first week of classes, the stupid git.”

 

“And what did Gwen think about that idea?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows. “I doubt she was terribly impressed.”

 

“She was furious. Like everyone else, she thought they’d be together forever. Of course, she got back at him by going out with Gwaine instead, which only ended badly for everyone involved.” Arthur winced—he definitely couldn’t see those two together long-term. “Then she dated Ellie for a while—you remember Ellie, right? Elena Godwyn? She was in the year above us at school.”

 

“Gwen dated _Ellie_?” That made Arthur do a double-take. “I thought she was straight.”

 

“Bi, actually.” Merlin shrugged. “She said she’d always known she swung both ways, but since she’d never dated a girl it never came up. It never mattered to me one way or the other, but Lance…” He sighed and poked at his marshmallows again. “I think he thought it was just a phase, you know? They had a row about it and didn’t speak until after graduation.”

 

He fell silent, and Arthur took a long sip from his own cup, considering. His own university years had been far less tumultuous, largely because he’d kept his head down and avoided getting involved with anyone for fear of drawing attention to himself. Even in an entirely different country, the name of Pendragon wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous one. He wondered what it would have been like if he and Merlin had gone to Cambridge together the way they’d planned—would they have stayed together, or would they, too, have broken up like Gwen and Lance and gone their separate ways?

 

“Anyway, Gwen’s married to a high-flying lawyer now, and last I heard, Lance was off building schools in Africa somewhere,” Merlin concluded. “He doesn’t really keep in touch, but I see him around town once in a while.”

 

Some of the energy seemed to have drained out of him, either because it was after midnight or because reliving the whole affair had reminded him of how badly their own relationship had ended. He drained his hot chocolate with a single gulp, leaving a thin line of foam along his upper lip, and it was a mark of how somber the mood had suddenly become that Arthur couldn’t bring himself to tease him about it.

 

“You’ve got a bit of—” he said, gesturing. Merlin swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning, and Arthur’s gaze caught on the moue of his lips, brushed deep pink and shiny by the gesture. He forced himself to look away, emptying his own cup and joining Merlin as he stood to deposit it in the sink. Inviting himself to stay had definitely been a mistake. Even though he knew now that Merlin didn’t hate him, the weight of his repressed desire was like an elephant in the room, and one that seemed determined to crush him.

 

“Come on,” Merlin said, when he’d finished rinsing their mugs. “I’ll show you to your room. Unless you wanted to shower, or—?”

 

“No, I think I’ll just hit the sack,” Arthur interrupted him hurriedly. The last thing he needed to think about right now was getting naked with Merlin under the same roof. “I’ll shower in the morning.”

 

Merlin nodded amiably, apparently sensing nothing amiss, and Arthur followed him up the stairs, trying to think only of elephants and not the amorphous, long-forgotten thoughts they represented. Merlin showed him to Gaius’ room, pushing the door open with a flourish and flicking on the light, then stood there at a loss for a moment before saying in a stilted voice, “Um. I can get you some pyjamas, if you want them, or—”

 

“That would be great, thanks.”

 

It was suddenly unbearably awkward, being in such a close space together. Arthur hovered anxiously in the doorway as Merlin traipsed off to his room for some pyjamas, then took them from him with an uncomfortable smile and shifted his weight, trying to find something else to say that wasn’t another “thank you” or worse, “I really want to kiss you right now.” 

 

“Um, well,” he said at last. “Good night then, I guess.”

 

“Sleep well.” Merlin smiled, a little uncertainly. “Are you sure you have everything?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good.” The elephant was crushing him again, and Arthur had the momentary fear that he was going to suffocate under its invisible weight. It was probably just the paranoia talking, but somehow he was convinced that if he let Merlin go now, the newfound closeness between them might somehow disappear overnight. Panicked, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “Um—you were going to tell me something.”

 

“I’m was?” Merlin cocked his head.

 

“Earlier, when my father interrupted us,” Arthur reminded him. “You said there was something important you’d been wanting to tell me.”

 

“Oh, that.” Merlin’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and though his expression seemed to hardly change, Arthur could sense that he was uncomfortable. “It’s nothing, really. It’s only—well. I was hoping that we could be friends again. Now that we’ve reconnected.” He ducked his head, the sudden flicker of his gaze making him look almost shy. “In case I didn’t mention it before, I’ve really missed you.”

 

The way he said it made something in Arthur’s chest ache, and he took a step closer. “I’ve missed you, too,” he said honestly.

 

Merlin seemed to sway towards him for a moment, and this time Arthur knew he wasn’t imagining the way Merlin’s attention dropped to his lips. A slow heat rolled through his body like dead air spreading before a thunderstorm, just waiting for a lightning strike to set everything ablaze. Then Merlin took a step back, shaking himself, his eyes cutting away from Arthur’s own.

 

“I—uh, I should get some sleep,” he said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “And you. You should—”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They stared at one another for another long moment, and Arthur wanted desperately to ask whether Merlin had really been about to kiss him. “Good night, Merlin. And—thanks again.”

 

Merlin’s answering smile was soft, and a little lost. “Good night, Arthur,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Sleep remained elusive, however. Perhaps it was the aftermath of his fight with his father—or, more likely, the near-miss with Merlin—but Arthur’s mind was buzzing, his body still far too keyed up to allow him to drift off. He couldn’t stop replaying that moment in the hallway, the way Merlin had leaned towards him for a moment before he’d caught himself and backed off. Obviously, if Merlin _had_ been about to kiss him, he’d thought the better of it. Was he not attracted to Arthur anymore, or was it just that he didn’t want to take advantage of the situation? _Had_ he really been going to do it, or was Arthur just seeing things he wanted to see?

 

The questions chased one another around his head, growing more and more nonsensical as the time passed, until finally Arthur slipped out of Gaius’ lumpy bed and padded out into the hallway. He went downstairs, making his way by feel and with the help of the moonlight spilling through the shutters, and poured himself a glass of water, standing silently by the sink as he sipped. It was odd, to be standing there after midnight in Merlin’s mother’s kitchen, but at the same time it felt more like coming home than staying in Camelot House had done.

 

When Arthur had finished his drink, he rinsed out the glass and splashed some water on his face, then turned and went back upstairs.

 

Merlin was waiting for him.

 

He hadn’t even undressed yet, looking rumpled and half asleep where he leaned against the railing at the top of the stairs, his hair in a wild disarray. He didn’t move when Arthur approached him, his hands clasping and unclasping the bannister like he was contemplating leaping over it, but there was something in his eyes that made Arthur swallow hard.

 

“Merlin?”

 

Merlin took a deep breath. “Do you think it’s stupid,” he said, “that I really want to do this, even though I know it probably won’t work out?”

 

Arthur’s heart was doing somersaults in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Do what?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Kiss you,” Merlin said, with customary directness. “It’s probably a bad idea, I know; I mean, we broke up last time for a reason, even if we both agree that we were idiots to do it. Maybe we would have broken up anyway, and what happened with Mithian was just the catalyst. But…” He let go of the bannister and took a step forward, searching Arthur’s face. “Maybe we wouldn’t have.”

 

“Maybe,” Arthur agreed, his pulse racing.

 

“And I can’t stop thinking—we’re both here, we’re both adults, and if you wanted to, maybe we could…” He looked away. “Like I said, I’m probably being stupid.”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Arthur quipped, trying to lighten the mood. But the look in Merlin’s eyes told him this was not the time, and he dropped the act with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Merlin. I don’t know how things would’ve gone if all the other stuff hadn’t come between us. All I know is, I’ve had one thing on my mind ever since I saw you outside the florist’s, and it wasn’t what kind of flowers I should get Morgana as an apology gift.”

 

Merlin let out a brief laugh, then covered his mouth, looking almost startled at himself. “Why does it not surprise me that you and Morgana are fighting already?”

 

“Because you know what a shrew my elder sister can be?” Arthur said, his lips quirking.

 

“Or maybe I know what a prat her younger brother can be.” Merlin’s face creased. “I bet you weren’t in the house five minutes before the two of you started bickering like children.”

 

“Excuse you. Morgana and I never bicker—we _discuss_ ,” Arthur said with dignity, then ruined it by smirking. “Only we do it loudly, and with lots of cursing.”

 

Merlin’s laughter was loud and unrestrained this time, ringing out through the hallway, and Arthur was near enough to reach out for him, hooking one hand hesitantly in the waistband beneath his untucked shirt.

 

“May I?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face. Merlin sobered, but nodded, biting his lower lip, and Arthur stepped closer, pressing his thumb against Merlin’s chin to tilt it down so that it was at the right angle for kissing.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, his eyelids fluttering closed. Arthur’s breath hitched, and he leaned in, letting his mouth brush slowly over Merlin’s in a tentative kiss.

 

Merlin tasted the same. It was impossible, really; Arthur’s memories of their time together were hazy now, blurring together into a fog of lust and laughter and stolen kisses, but beneath the lingering sweetness of the hot chocolate there was something perfect and familiar, and Arthur let out a helpless little sound, unable to keep from delving in deeper just to be certain. Merlin opened to him without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and pressing the full length of his body against him.

 

“Just so that we’re clear,” he muttered, between kisses. “I didn’t agree to let you stay because I was hoping that we would—you know.”

 

“You don’t say.” Amused, Arthur kissed his way down Merlin’s throat, nuzzling into his neck and biting gently at his clavicle. “Well, just so that _we’re_ clear, I know you didn’t only ask me to stay because you were hoping we’d _you know_ , but now that I’m here, if we don’t actually _you know,_ I want you to know I’m going to be very disappointed.”

 

Merlin’s laugh came out sounding somewhat breathless. “Oh, really?” he asked, twining his fingers into Arthur’s hair. “How disappointed?”

 

“Devastated,” Arthur said solemnly. He nudged Merlin back towards the bedroom, sucking love-bites into his throat, and Merlin hooked his hands in Arthur’s belt-loops as they kissed, rubbing against him. Merlin was as hard as he was, his cock bulging in his trousers, and it was torture trying to keep his hands off him long enough to manoeuvre them both through the open doorway. “Disconsolate. Dejected. Possibly discombobulated.”

 

Merlin smacked him lightly on the arm, but Arthur caught him and reeled him in, using the moment to start undressing him instead. It was different now, of course; Merlin had filled out some in the years since Arthur had known him, all lean muscle where he used to be just skin and bone, and they were both of them older, taller, more experienced. Still, when all of Merlin’s shirt buttons were finally undone, and Arthur pushed it off his shoulders to reveal the pale chest beneath, his hands were trembling the way they had done the first time he’d ever touched Merlin, as though he were still that green boy underneath it all, seeing his crush naked for the first time.

 

“Hey.” Merlin caught his wrists and drew him closer, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s chin and then his nose. “It’s okay. Breathe. It’s just me.”

 

Arthur laughed, a little shakily. “I know,” he said. “I just—I never thought this would happen again, you know?”

 

“What, you never thought you’d have sex again?” Merlin’s blue eyes sparkled up at him. “That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think?”

 

“Idiot.” Arthur crowded Merlin back against the wall, sucking gently at the spot just below his jaw that had always made him squirm. He grinned when Merlin let out a small moan of satisfaction, his head tipping back. “You know what I meant.”

 

“Hm,” Merlin agreed, clearly unwilling to be distracted. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you’ve been pining over me since we were kids.” He arched and gave a little gasp when one of Arthur’s hands found and tweaked a nipple with painful accuracy. “Fuck, Arthur, what was that for?”

 

“Don’t even joke,” Arthur said, the words coming out too rough to be properly teasing. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m not sure I _haven’t_ been pining for you that long, you know.”

 

Merlin just looked at him then, his face gone soft and wondering, and instead of answering he started pulling at Arthur’s belt with both hands, dragging it from around Arthur’s waist and dumping it somewhere on the floor. Arthur’s trousers followed suit, then his pants, until finally they were both naked and staring at each other in Merlin’s old bedroom, cataloguing the differences that almost a decade of separation had wrought. 

 

“I—” Merlin paused and then swallowed, reaching out a hand to trace the faint scar on Arthur’s hip. “Where did you get that?”

 

“Hiking accident when I was twenty-three,” Arthur said. “And you?” He gestured to Merlin’s hair. “I thought you were determined to keep it cropped short forever.”

 

Merlin flushed. “Trying to impress an ex-boyfriend,” he said. “Didn’t work.”

 

“I like it,” Arthur said, toying with one of the soft strands. “I think it suits you.”

 

Merlin ducked his head, smiling that stupidly goofy smile again, and Arthur felt as if he were going to burst with all the emotions crowding in his chest.

 

“I really want to touch you right now,” he blurted, blushing stupidly at the frankness of the words. He had never really figured out how to play it cool with Merlin. “Do you—can I—?”

 

“I think that could be arranged.” With a quirk of his lips, Merlin caught at Arthur’s wrist, guiding his hand down between his legs. Arthur heard the hitch of his own breath as their hands closed together around Merlin’s cock, the silky flesh hot and eager beneath his fingers, and Merlin’s exhale was a little shaky, too, like maybe he hadn’t really been expecting this to happen either until that moment. He bent to rest his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder, mouth grazing open and wet against his collarbone, and Arthur took advantage of the position to slide his thumb over Merlin’s length, dragging Merlin’s hand along with it. Merlin groaned at the friction, bucking up a little into Arthur’s palm, and suddenly all Arthur could think about was how much he needed this, needed _Merlin_ , as if having him here like this could somehow keep the distance of the past eight and a half years from ever having happened.

 

“Want you to fuck me,” he whispered, cupping Merlin’s head with his free hand and kissing blindly into his hair. “Fuck, Merlin, I want to feel you inside me, I want—”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin said, his voice cracking. “Yeah, okay, we can do that.”

 

He stumbled a little in his haste to locate some supplies, ruining his attempt at nonchalance by tripping over the pile of clothes and nearly measuring his length on the floor. Arthur snickered at him from the bed, burying his face in a pillow when Merlin glared at him. “And to think, I’d almost forgotten just how clumsy you are,” he said, shaking his head in mock despair.

 

“Shut up,” Merlin said, without rancour. “And help me figure out where I stashed the lube.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

It was strange, having Merlin’s hands on him again. It had been so long that the moment felt brand new, yet Arthur had never had a new lover who could read him so well, or who knew where all of his most sensitive spots were without having to ask. He tried to remember the last time they had done this, the last time _he_ had done this, but all that came to mind was their fumbling first time, when Merlin had barely entered him before Arthur was coming all over the sheets, too turned on by the forbidden thrill of it to hold himself back. Things had only gotten better from there, and he suppressed a tiny shiver as Merlin settled between his legs, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

 

“It’s, um. It’s been a while,” he admitted, when Merlin raised a questioning eyebrow. “You’re going to have to take it slow.”

 

“Of course,” Merlin assured him. “Whatever you need.”

 

He kissed his way along Arthur’s spine, trailing his slick hand down to cup the curve of Arthur’s arse and slide between his thighs. Instinctively, Arthur spread his legs wider and canted his hips, bracing himself for the intrusion, but Merlin didn’t penetrate him right away. Instead, he ran his index finger lightly over Arthur’s hole, teasing him with just a tiny bit of pressure before moving away again, then coming back for another pass. Each repetition seemed to heighten Arthur’s sensitivity, so that when Merlin added another squirt of lube along with his fingers, Arthur actually gasped, shuddering slightly where he knelt on the bed.

 

“Easy.” Merlin began to spread the oil along his cleft, his long fingers moving in slow, sweeping motions against Arthur’s skin. “I’ve got you.”

 

“It’s warm,” Arthur managed to say. “I can feel—like heat—”

 

“Yeah.” Somehow, he could tell Merlin was smiling just from the change in his voice. “It doubles as heated massage oil, apparently. Is that okay?”

 

Jerkily, Arthur nodded, and Merlin resumed his ministrations, gently massaging Arthur’s rim with his lube-coated fingers. Before long, Arthur was practically dripping with it, gasping as much from the anticipation as from what Merlin was actually doing with his hands. His cock was so hard it was aching, the tip leaking clear fluid onto the sheets, and Arthur grabbed at the base with one hand, not wanting the night to end too soon.

 

And then, Merlin’s finger was pressing inside him, just the tip at first, then further, gradually easing past the tight ring of muscle. Arthur inhaled sharply at the burn, his body tensing, but Merlin kept going, whispering endearments and encouragement as he fucked Arthur open with his hands.

 

“You look so gorgeous like this,” Merlin told him, dropping kisses on Arthur’s back and buttocks as he worked. “So beautiful. Look how tight you are. I used to dream about you like this, spreading for me—all of you wide open, mine for the taking. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you, Arthur, you have no idea.”

 

“You—” Arthur struggled for speech. “You’ve finally learned the function of dirty talk, I see.”

 

“It’s not just talk.” When Arthur glanced back at him, Merlin’s eyes were dark with something more than lust, his gaze fixed on Arthur’s face. “I missed you so much when you left,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I hooked up with every buff blond boy I could find while I was at uni and pretended they were you, but they never were. I fucking _pined_ for you.”

 

Arthur swallowed hard and had to close his eyes, bowing back as Merlin’s probing finger gave a wicked twist in just the right spot. “God, Merlin.” His throat worked, the words coming out scratchy and raw. “Fuck, _more. Please_.”

 

Merlin made a pleased sound and slid another finger in, and Arthur groaned incoherently into the bed. His erection had flagged a little when Merlin first entered him, but now it was back in full force, and he began to push back onto Merlin’s fingers with shallow little thrusts, letting them coax him open inch by inch.

 

By the time Merlin decided that he was done with his preparations, Arthur’s arms were trembling from holding himself up, and his thighs ached with the effort it took to keep still. As soon as Merlin withdrew his fingers, he sagged forward onto the mattress, rolling limply onto his back to watch as Merlin unwrapped the condom. Merlin’s fingers were slippery with lube and shaking with adrenaline, and it took several tries before he was able to tear open the packet and fit the sheath onto his cock. Arthur watched him fumble, taking in the little frown of concentration of his face and the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth, and his heart swelled in his chest as he realised that Merlin was just as nervous, just as blown away by this as he was.

 

“How do you want to do this?” he asked quietly. “Do you want me on my front, or—?”

 

“Maybe—you could ride me?” Merlin asked, sounding a little hesitant. “I want to see you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Rising up onto his knees, Arthur shuffled across the bed until he and Merlin were face to face. Merlin’s eyes were fixed on him, wary and eager all at once, as if he wasn’t sure where to touch first or if he were even allowed to. Arthur knew exactly how he felt. The knowledge that they were finally here, now, after so much time had passed, was enough to make the prospect of sex seem suddenly overwhelming, and he could feel it there between them, the looming possibility that they might somehow crash and burn with the immensity of it all.

 

With deliberate care, Arthur brushed Merlin’s fringe out of his eyes and kissed him, cradling his cheeks with both hands as he licked into the seam of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin made a little whimpering sound and caught hold of his wrists, deepening the kiss almost desperately, and Arthur let him take charge of things for the moment, meeting Merlin’s every sigh and gasp with his own.

 

“Okay, it’s okay, we’ve got this,” Arthur murmured when they finally broke apart, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s. He waited for the answering nod, firm but breathless, before he gently pushed Merlin onto his back and straddled him, positioning himself carefully above Merlin’s cock. “You might want to hold onto something,” he added, smirking, just to see some of the tension melt off Merlin’s face, and then he pressed down.

 

This was the part that Arthur had always liked best: watching Merlin’s expression change as Arthur took him in, the way he always seemed to pay such rapt attention to the place where his cock disappeared into Arthur’s body. Arthur had never bottomed for any of his other partners, simply because he couldn’t imagine wanting to do it without that look, the little smile of incredulity as Arthur bottomed out, as if Merlin still couldn’t believe they fit together so perfectly.

 

“You ruined me, you know,” Arthur whispered, leaning forward and beginning to rock his hips. He braced himself with his hands either side of Merlin’s head, and Merlin gripped his forearms fiercely, tipping his head back to look up into Arthur’s eyes. His lips were slightly parted, a curl of dark hair plastered to his forehead, but his gaze never wavered from Arthur’s own. The angle was a little awkward—certainly shallower than Arthur might otherwise have liked—but Arthur wouldn’t have given up that connection for anything. “I could never get you out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried.”

 

Merlin raised his head with an effort, and Arthur kissed him, messy and open-mouthed. It was nowhere near enough: Arthur wanted to delve inside him, to seal their mouths together until they were breathing the same breath, sharing the same air. Merlin’s hand came up to grip Arthur’s hair, his hips pushing up off the mattress as he drove up into Arthur’s body, and Arthur began to fuck himself on his cock in earnest, wrenching his lips away from Merlin’s as he arched his back in pleasure.

 

“Come on,” he gasped. “Sit up. I want—I need you to—”

 

It took a moment for Merlin to get it, then he was surging upright, almost unseating Arthur from his lap. Arthur gripped him with his knees, holding onto Merlin’s shoulders as he shifted into position, but could barely wait until he had settled back into place before catching Merlin’s face and kissing him as he hadn’t been able to before, hot and wet and deep as Merlin slid back inside him.

 

“It was the same—for me—you know,” Merlin gasped into his ear, holding onto Arthur so tight that Arthur knew he would leave bruises. “There was never anyone else who measured up. Never anyone I could really—oh, _fuck_ —be myself with, no matter how much I wanted to.”

 

Arthur could only groan in response, feeling the tell-tale coil of pressure beginning at the base of his spine. Merlin had to be feeling it too, his chest covered in a faint sheen of sweat and his muscles wound so taut Arthur could see the tendons through his skin, but so far he had shown no signs of faltering. “Did you—do this with them, too?” Arthur panted, his rhythm wavering as his concentration frayed. “Take them apart with your fingers—your mouth—tell them your secrets—”

 

“No,” Merlin whispered, and Arthur was very close now, all it would take was one little push— “That’s only ever been you, Arthur. I swear.”

 

Arthur came hard, spine bent back at a painful angle as semen spurted across his torso and over Merlin’s bed. Orgasm spilled through him in a series of shattering bursts, blotting out his other senses for a time, and when he came to Merlin was wiping him down with a soft cloth, murmuring nonsense phrases into Arthur’s ear. After a few seconds, Arthur recognised the cloth as one of Merlin’s old t-shirts, likely snagged from the pile on the floor while Arthur had been drifting in his post-coital haze.

 

“That is so gross, Merlin,” he said, making a disgusted face, and Merlin pinched him.

 

“Shut up, you’re ruining the mood,” he said, chucking the shirt away, and Arthur subsided, grinning. Merlin must have come shortly after he did, and he felt a momentary pang of regret for not being aware enough to watch it happen; but then Merlin was kissing him again, slow and sweet, and Arthur let the feeling pass, concentrating instead on making the most of the present.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

Waking up on Boxing Day morning was very different from the day before. For one thing, Arthur awoke feeling blissfully warm for the first time in recent memory, lying buried beneath a mountain of Merlin’s fluffiest duvets. The Emrys’ central heating system was working full blast to compensate for the weather, and over the hum he could hear the sound of robins chirping from one of the trees outside the window. It was about as far removed from the icy, indifferent atmosphere of Camelot House as it was possible to get.

 

Then there was the way he woke up to find Merlin sliding a condom onto his cock—with his mouth.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, as Merlin tongued the head of his morning erection, flicking lightly over the tip before doubling down and taking Arthur in deep. “Merlin— _fuck_ , are you sure you want to—oh, _god_.” Merlin’s fingers had slipped inside him, likely in retaliation for asking stupid questions, and Arthur trailed off with a choked cry, his head falling back onto the pillows as he fought not to buck himself right off the bed. Merlin’s free hand settled on Arthur’s thighs, and he pulled off for a moment to mouth gently at Arthur’s balls, pressing a damp kiss to the skin of Arthur’s perineum.

 

“I’m good if you are,” he said, voice somewhat muffled by the covers, and all Arthur could do was moan, pressing up into Merlin’s grip in wordless reassurance.

 

It was never going to take long. Arthur had always loved Merlin’s mouth, and that combined with the sensation of Merlin’s fingers fucking lazily into his still-loose hole meant that Arthur was coming almost before he was even properly awake, his body spasming as he spent himself in long, hot pulses. Merlin milked him through it, swallowing around his softening cock until Arthur nudged him and he pulled away. He emerged from beneath the covers looking adorably rumpled and rather insultingly pleased with himself.

 

“Merry belated Christmas,” he said, chucking the condom before planting a sloppy kiss on Arthur’s mouth. “Don’t you think orgasms make the best gifts?”

 

“Quick, dirty, and easy to wrap,” Arthur quipped back, smirking as he tangled his fingers in Merlin’s hair. “I guess I know what to ask Santa for next year.”

 

That made Merlin splutter. “Oh my god. Why did you put that image into my head?”

 

“You started it,” Arthur told him, grinning. “I was just following the idea through to a logical conclusion. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Emrys.”

 

“I’m starting to wonder what I ever saw in you,” Merlin grumbled, but there was no bite to it. He pushed back the covers and got out of bed, his cock still heavy and hard between his legs. “Good morning, dollophead.”

 

“Good morning, idiot.” Arthur looked up at him with a soft smile, taking in the mussed-up hair and the smear of dried spit across his cheek. Merlin looked ridiculous, but also gorgeous, his face still flushed from fucking, his plump lips bitten and red. Arthur nodded at his erection and raised his eyebrows. “You want me to take care of that for you, or were you just going to have a cold shower and call it a day?”

 

“We could—maybe, together?” Merlin suggested, looking absurdly shy for someone who had had Arthur’s cock in his mouth only a few moments before. “There’s not much room in the bathtub, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur breathed, pushing back the covers and scrambling to his feet. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They didn’t _actually_ manage to have sex in the shower, since it was old and tiny and mounted over the bath, which meant it barely had enough space to fit them both in at once. Nevertheless, Arthur took full advantage of the close quarters to re-learn Merlin’s body in daylight, tracing his fingers reverently over the pale skin as he helped Merlin to soap up under the spray.

 

In the stark winter sunshine, the evidence of their previous night’s activities was written plainly across Merlin’s body. There were bruises on his neck from where Arthur had bitten him, as well as various love-bites on his chest and arms and a livid purple mark at his throat. Arthur’s fingertips lingered over them, the sight filling him with a surge of heat that wasn’t quite embarrassment. Merlin had moaned when he made those marks, throwing his head back as if he loved the thought of being branded by Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur had _wanted_ to brand him, wanted the whole world to know that Merlin was his and his alone. There were a lot of things he wanted to do to Merlin, actually, and it struck him that he was already planning their future together like it was a settled thing, something that stretched out in front of them both indefinitely instead of ending in a few brief, truncated days.

 

“Arthur.” Merlin caught at Arthur’s hand and kissed it, pressing his lips to the palm then folding Arthur’s fingers over it so that he could kiss each one of his knuckles as well. He looked a bit like a wet puppy, hair straggling over his face and into his eyes, but his expression when he met Arthur’s gaze was somber, almost grave. “Everything all right?”

 

“Everything’s fine,” Arthur said. “Perfect, in fact.”

 

But he couldn’t help crowding Merlin back into the corner as he said it, running his hands along the slick, wet skin and biting yet again at Merlin’s throat. He was more deliberate this time, fastening his mouth carefully over each rising bruise before he began to suck, and true to form Merlin practically melted in his arms, his head thudding slightly where it fell back against the wall.

 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his fingers twisting almost painfully in the hair at Arthur’s nape. “Possessive bastard,” he added, swearing as Arthur began to kiss his way down his torso and towards his straining cock. “I have to go back to work in a few days, people are going to take one look at me and know— _fuck_.”

 

When Arthur was done, however, Merlin hauled him back to his feet and kissed him messily, biting his own marks into Arthur’s skin until the water ran cold and the two of them were forced to get out or freeze, so Arthur figured that meant that he approved.

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

The doubts that had crept up on Arthur while they were in the shower returned to him full force once they were both dry and dressed in their normal clothes. He followed Merlin into the kitchen and helped him lay out the breakfast things, his thoughts already spiralling ahead to what he would do if Merlin told him this was it for them, that all he’d wanted was one last fuck for old time’s sake before moving on for good. It didn’t help that Merlin, too, was oddly quiet, reaching up to touch one of the bruises on his neck every so often as he fried up some breakfast for the both of them.

 

“We should probably talk about this,” Arthur said at last, as he watched Merlin divide the bacon up between their two plates. “About what we want, I mean. Just so that we know we’re both on the same page.”

 

“ _You_ want to talk about your feelings?” Merlin raised his eyebrows and paused, frying pan still in hand. “Who are you and what have you done with Arthur Pendragon?”

 

“I may have learned a thing or two over the past few years,” Arthur conceded, grinning. “Including the value of direct communication.”

 

Merlin snorted. “It only took you a couple of centuries,” he said, but he was smiling, so Arthur magnanimously decided not to take offence. Even he could admit he’d been pretty screwed up as a kid.

 

“I just want you to know that this isn’t—this isn’t a one-off thing for me.” He felt his throat closing up, but forced himself to look Merlin in the eye. “If you want to, then I really—I really want to see where this goes.”

 

The smile faded from Merlin’s face, and Arthur’s fingers tightened around the fork in his hand.

 

“Don’t you have to go back to the city?”

 

“Not right away,” Arthur said cautiously. “I was planning on staying here in Ealdor until New Year’s, and after that I have another week’s holiday, if I want it.”

 

“And then what?”

 

“And then, I don’t know.” Arthur put the fork down, his appetite gone. “Merlin, I’m not going to lie to you. Obviously we’re both adults and we both have our own lives—it’s not going to be simple to work all this out, I get that. And, I mean, it’s been a long time, we hardly know one another anymore, but— ”

 

“Move in with me,” Merlin blurted, then blushed bright red. “I don’t mean forever,” he hastened to add. “Just—just for the next two weeks. Don’t go and stay at The Rising Sun. Stay here, instead.”

 

Arthur could only stare at him, his hands gripping the table-top as he tried to remind himself to breathe. “You don’t think that’s too much, too soon?”

 

“I don’t know,” Merlin said honestly. “But I meant what I said last night: I never really stopped loving you. And, okay, maybe we need some time to get caught up on everything that has changed in the past eight years, but I can’t really think of anything that would stop me from wanting to be with you, as often and as long as I possibly can.”

 

He looked away from Arthur as he said it, as if he thought Arthur might laugh at this declaration, but Arthur was far from finding it amusing. This was the Merlin he remembered, always willing to throw caution to the wind and dive in where angels feared to tread. “Me too,” he said finally, the words coming out rusty and strange. “I mean—Fuck, Merlin. Me too.”

 

“Then it’s settled.” Merlin pressed a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head and resumed dishing out the bacon. “We’ll go and get the rest of your things from the house after breakfast. I was going to come with you anyway, just to make sure your dad didn’t try anything.”

 

“I don’t need your protection, Merlin,” Arthur said, amused. Merlin scowled at him, and he relented, running his knuckles over Merlin’s cheek and flicking an ear gently with his finger. “But I’ll be glad to have it, all the same.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

As it turned out, however, there was no need for either of them to go up to the great hall. Not long after they had finished eating, a familiar car turned into the driveway, it’s engine idling as the driver rolled down the window and leaned on the horn.

 

“I think it’s Morgana,” said Arthur, squinting out of the fogged-up glass to see what all the noise was about. “Uther must have told her where I went last night. Or maybe she just guessed,” he added, remembering Morgana’s plan to get the two of them back together. He probably owed her an apology, given the way things had turned out. “I should go and see what she wants.”

 

“Do you want me to come with?” Merlin asked, leaning over Arthur’s shoulder to look out the window as well. He was holding a tea towel in one hand and a flower-patterned dish in the other, looking about as threatening as a fluffy kitten, but from the expression on his face Arthur had no doubt he would charge out there, metaphorical guns blazing, if Arthur asked him to.

 

“No, I’ll be all right,” Arthur said, forcing down the silly grin that was threatening to break across his face. “She probably just wants to talk.”

 

Morgana had left the car and was making her way up the front walk by the time Arthur opened the door, looking faintly ridiculous as she picked her way through the snow in high heeled boots. She stopped when she saw him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked different, somehow, without her usual armour of make-up and perfectly styled hair, and her eyes were wary as Arthur approached her, as if she wasn’t sure how he was going to react.

 

“Hello, Arthur,” she said. “Father told me you’d be here.”

 

“Did he send you?” Arthur asked, folding his arms. “Or are you here on your own behalf? Because if you came to ask me to move back to the house, Morgana, you might as well save your breath. I’m happy here.”

 

“I figured as much.” Her eyes flicked down to Arthur’s throat, where several hickeys were no doubt plainly visible. “But we wanted to bring you your luggage, and to make sure you know you’re still invited to the New Year’s Eve party next week. Merlin, too, if he wants to come.”

 

“We?” Arthur frowned. “What do you mean, we?”

 

“Father’s waiting in the car,” Morgana said, tilting her head back over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get him to apologise, but I insisted on making him come with me once I found out what had happened.” She hesitated. “I didn’t want to let you disappear again like last time, and I don’t think he did either. At least, not without making sure that you're okay.”

 

Arthur lifted his gaze and saw Uther watching them from the passenger seat, an unreadable expression on his face. When he caught sight of Arthur looking at him, he turned his head away, his jaw set, but not before Arthur had glimpsed the uncertainty in his eyes.

 

“Right,” Arthur said. He searched for something else to say, wondering how different things would have been if Uther had deigned to come looking for him that night, all those years ago, but in the end he found it didn’t matter. The past was done. Over. There was no use dwelling on it. He looked back at Morgana, who was clearly waiting for him to speak, and shrugged his shoulders at her. “Well, thanks for bringing me my stuff,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

 

“That’s—not all I brought,” Morgana said, shifting her weight a little. She pressed her lips together, glancing back over her shoulder at Uther, then straightened her back decisively. “I also wanted to apologise,” she said, her voice as stiff and unbending as her spine. “I talked to Leon after you left, and you were right. I shouldn’t have interfered, and I definitely shouldn’t have lied to you.” She let out a breath. “I guess sometimes I still think of you as my dopey baby brother, and it’s hard not to jump in and try to save you when I see you drowning.”

 

“I wasn’t drowning,” Arthur said, slightly exasperated, but even in his annoyance he could feel himself softening. Morgana had never been very big on apologies: that she was attempting to make one now spoke volumes about how much she really was trying to understand. “It’s not that I don’t want you to get involved in my life, ’Gana. Believe it or not, I’ve missed you, in spite of your meddling ways, and the whole reason I agreed to come back here was so that we could try and become a family again. It’s just…I don’t want to be manipulated. If you want to help me, help me, but don’t lie to my face about it. Please. I need to know you respect me enough to let me make my own choices.”

 

“Even if those choices are wrong?”

 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Even then.”

 

Morgana pursed her lips thoughtfully, and for a moment Arthur thought that she was going to argue, but finally she nodded. “Fine. I suppose I can do that.”

 

“You promise?”

 

“Pinky swear.” This time, she actually smiled, and when she held out one gloved hand it was with the pinky finger outstretched. Arthur rolled his eyes—she had always made him promise that way when they were kids, usually when she wanted to keep him from getting her into trouble—but he crooked his own, ungloved finger around hers and shook it once before pulling her into a hug.

 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, holding her tightly. “I know you were only trying to help.”

 

“I could probably have gone about it more openly,” Morgana admitted, the words coming out slightly muffled against his neck, “rather than just assuming I knew what was best for you. I think I’m more like Father than I want to be, sometimes. But between you and Leon, there’s a chance I might turn out all right.”

 

“You'd better.” Arthur let her go with a grin. “Because if you’re very lucky, you may be seeing quite a lot of me in the near future.”

 

“You mean—you and Merlin…?”

 

“He’s offered to let me stay here for the holidays,” Arthur said, resisting the urge to squirm as she raised an eyebrow at him. He was doing his best to keep the happiness he felt from breaking out too obviously across his face, but he knew she could see it anyway. “It’s only for a couple of weeks, while we get to know one another again. After that, we’ll see how things go.”

 

“But you'll be staying in Ealdor until the New Year?”

 

Arthur nodded. “Unless he kicks me out.”

 

“I’m glad,” Morgana said simply, smiling. “Things haven’t been the same since you left.”

 

“Things haven’t been the same without you either.” Arthur hugged her again, more briefly this time, and when they broke apart he caught Morgana surreptitiously wiping her eyes. He cleared his throat.

 

“So, are you going to help me with my suitcases, or what?” he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the car. Morgana looked relieved; they might be adults now, but they were still Pendragons, and Pendragons didn’t _do_ emotions. At least, not very well.

 

“I’ll help you move in with your boyfriend,” she said. “On one condition.”

 

“Which is?”

 

She grinned at him, then, the old, wicked grin of hers that Arthur knew all too well. “Bags I get to be Best Man at your wedding.”

 

 

⋆ ❅ ⋆

 

 

When the car had disappeared once more in the direction of the village, taking Morgana and their father with it, Arthur turned back up the stairs and stopped in front of Merlin, who was watching him from the doorstep with an unreadable expression.

 

“So?” he said.

 

“So.” Arthur caught at his waist, tugging him close for a long, slow kiss. “As you may have noticed, I’m still here, more or less in one piece. No dragon slaying or damsel saving required.”

 

“Hmm.” Merlin smiled against his lips. “I also noticed you seem to have acquired some luggage.”

 

“Oh, didn’t you know? I’m moving in.” Arthur nudged him back against the door jamb and pressed against him, burrowing his face against Merlin’s throat and breathing him in. Merlin was warm and solid in his arms, everything that Arthur had always wanted and so much more than he deserved. He had no idea where fate would take them—hell, he didn’t know if they’d still be together tomorrow—but he found he rather liked the idea of having to wait and see what the future had in store.

 

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said softly, anchoring his hands in Merlin’s scarf.

 

“I’ve never given up on anyone in my life,” Merlin informed him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist and holding on tight. “There’s no way in hell I’d start with you.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [through an orchard green](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17809262) by [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart)




End file.
